The Day After
Back to August, and a brief follow-up to my previous post. Summer had regained its rightful place on the calendar. It was hard to believe that I'd slogged through several inches of snow just twenty four hours earlier. After a spending a chilly, restless night in the confines of my bivy, I was eager to get up and get going.
By August, the sun rises a little later. The mornings are slower to warm. But the sun eventually touches the valley floor. When it's calm, its heavenly.
Rising cutthroats dimpled the surface of the placid lake. A fisherman's invitation. The fish were good hosts and willingly came to the fly. I circled the lake, picking off cruising fish. When I reached my starting point below camp, a repeat circumnavigation of the lake was unnecessary. The catching had been easy. I'd already caught my fill. I was content then, to revel in the morning, just as I am now, looking back at these photos.
So here's to alpine lakes and cutthroat trout. And let's not forget the dreamy days of summer that make it possible to get there. A toast.