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It didn't take long to connect to my quarry...







I caught a few more, but frankly I was content to sit on a rock in the water and soak in the surroundings.





I had multiple whitewater rafts come by and ask me if i was catching any. "A few", I said. They usually replied with: "I saw a good brown a few holes up."

That's great, I thought. This river is a national wild and scenic river, literally a national treasure with a native bass that is worth pursuing and celebrating on its own. However, everyone that fishes here is in pursuit of trout. trout that don't belong. Trout that were stocked here from a completely fabricated beginning to exist for the sole purpose of satisfying anglers that don't know any better. I liken it to killing a kudu in the scrub woodlands of Kenya or Nambia versus one in a high fence in Texas. It's just a more authentic experience, and that's what I chase in a world that is becoming increasingly less authentic.

Enough of my soap box though. After fishing, I met up with my buddies and one of them caught one. This type of fishing isn't easy, and it isn't measured in inches or numbers.

Along the way out, I picked some streamside chanterelles and we headed back to camp.









One of my favorite parts of every day was in the evening. The period after dinner, with full bellies and cold beverages in hand, we could recount the memories of the day and anticipate the next day's adventures.