You come late to the lake, but there's enough time to explore the north end.
The Osprey shares his water with you again.
You fish the natural deer hair marabou muddler.
The fish love it, but they're all single digit fish. Later you tie a nymph on the hook bend and fish the tandem rig. They enthusiastically take both flies.
That's the story of the fishing.
It's the kind of evening in which time taken to watch the Cedar Waxwings pirouette precisely through the hatching bugs is time well spent. This--this--is the meaning of life.
It's the kind of evening that takes on a timeless aspect. You enter into an endless present and a oneness of water, land and sky.
Even the setting of the sun and the waning of the light can't break the spell of timelessness. You're simply adrift in the heart of the moment, and the moment is all.
When the moon dips out of sight behind the mountain you, too, dip out of sight.
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