It's hard to beat the perfect day. Is it late summer? Early autumn? Maybe the day is somewhere in between. A September day that by afternoon noses into the eighties. I spend it by hiking into the high country.
The miles go by, I hike quickly in the comfort of the cool morning. Aspens are yellowing, so is the thimbleberry that carpets the stream bottom trail. Huckleberry bushes that failed to produce fruit this year put on a show of crimson. Its as if to say "sorry for the lack of berries, here's some crimson leaves instead."
I reach the lake. Its calm, mostly. I drop my pack, pull out a ground tarp to set on the soggy ground, and settle in the watch for a while. Such splendor. A clear blue sky. An alpine lake. Mountains. Bear poop.
A fish rises, then another. I watch. No need to hurry. My dates not going anywhere. She'll continue to leave little rings on the lake surface. She can't afford to miss a meal you know.
And so I fish. It's a reunion of sorts. Its been two years since I last checked in.
I catch one, wait for it to settle down in the net, then take photos. I marvel at the delicate lines, the exquisite color. Grayling remind me of those tropical fish....Siamese fighting fish. Only prettier, and more sporting on a fly rod.
I catch a couple more, then call it good. I kick back and watch the little rings on the lake surface. Hopefully they'll still be here in a couple of years. Me too.