|A cow moose enjoying Idaho's brief summer.|
|McLovin coaxing brookies from cold water.|
There, in these off-the-beaten path haunts, a pair of anglers can find a day's fishing away from the crowds and the boats and the roar of runoff that seems as though it will never really end.
It's odd to bemoan water, especially in a place where water is the answer to so many prayers. But, from the Be Careful What You Wish For Department, we now have spring. And it's July. In a scant month, the high country will begin to freeze again, and the aspens will begin to brighten and turn. The mountains will once again begin to prepare for the snow they're just now getting rid of.
The woods will reawaken with hunters moving about quietly in camo and blaze orange. The grouse will become a bit more wary, and the mule deer will move about only in the alpenglow. The peaks will get a dusting or two and then, if we're lucky, Indian summer.
But I'm not counting on it. I'm enjoying what little summer we have to enjoy this year after The Longest Winter Ever. I'm going to milk from this summer every ounce of backcountry brook trout I can carry home to the smoker, knowing this bounty is special and the window is small and closing.
|Fish fear McLovin.|
The days are already getting shorter, and the days on the water have been painfully few. But blue skies beckon. Warm breezes caress. Trout rise. For now, anway.
Summer in the Rockies ... when it finally gets here, it's almost over.