A Picture Is Worth A Thousand Words

Relax! There are no pictures today but not a thousand words either. 

About this time a year ago,  I rose early and wasted an hour looking for my point and shoot  camera. Finally, giving up, I headed off fly rod in hand for "The Arches." Let me describe - The Arches is an ancient steel truss bridge spanning an upper reach of the South Branch of the Root River. It's called the Arches because only to a fisherman and cows in the pasture below the bridge, does it become obvious that the structure is held up by limestone pillar spans in the manner that the ancient Roman engineers had perfected.

 It's a small valley stream here with pools and riffles perfectly inviting for trout and fishermen alike. Opposite the pasture, stand limestone bluffs reaching a hundred feet or more in height. The kind of view prevails here that Meriwether Lewis once described of the Upper Missouri as one of "perfect enchantment." Atop the bluff, stand huge white pines, obviously missed by the lumber barons of a hundred years ago, because of their awkward positioning. Red cedar and some yews find places to grow on the face of the cliff.

I headed downstream flicking my nymphs into the sparkling clear water. There is a rhythm to fly-fishing that sets time and larger issues aside. Still, the first outing of the year often takes time to capture that mood. Catching trees and bushes can do that. Not today though. Everything seemed perfect. Till coming around a bend I was beset by the angry honking of numerous nesting Canada geese. Probably a good thing I had decided to leave Baron, my GSD, behind. I might have had a riot on my hands!.

 The corker was when I looked up, hearing much hissing far above me. I couldn't believe what I saw. Two geese were staring down at me from a ledge near the top of the cliff. They had built a nest up there in swallow country. And then they jumped off the ledge and were swooping down in my direction. Is this how Londoners had felt under the German blitz in 1940? I quickly abandoned my strongpoint and headed down stream.

I looked for some morels but we needed rain and some warmer weather. The floods of the last few years had drastically changed the channel. Old favorite pools were gone now and new ones were created to be explored. I saw dozens of warblers but without binocs  I couldn't tell what kind.

 I hiked for a couple of hours, so glad that my knee replacement of several years ago, allowed me to do what I so much love doing. Still, I wasn't in my thirties anymore. In those days I hiked up and over mountains in Montana to reach those honey holes. Now, I was just glad to be out and about in one of the most beautiful places in our country. BTW I did manage to catch a few nice brown trout.... but that's not really the point is it?