You're drawn back to the river and the timeless rituals of life and death going on there.
You try for smallmouth, trout or steelhead at the head of the Bridge Run. There are no takers. You cross over.
You wade up toward the Glide past reminders of the high waters of just a few months ago.
The Glide is full of salmon. Their redds shine on the edges of the potholes. You step carefully and try again to find other fish in their midst. You snag two salmon and lose two flies when the medium tippet snaps like thread.
So you leave the salmon alone, cross over and head back along the bank to the Bridge Run.
You dip into the first riffles of the run and find a little trout.
Another timeless ritual to close the day.
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