Deep in that slow exhale of late summer is when you will lose it. Hopefully. Another full parking lot at your favorite piece of water and just like that you’re over the rail and off the back—babbling like a lunatic about flying ants, pregnant scuds and mousecapades after midnight. You’re headed for the hills and some long trail therapy. Time to walk it off.
A small, dense bag is loaded smartly from years of experience and error. A simple but proven fishing kit assembled (don’t over think it). Modern lightweight gear affords you a bit of extra snivel ballast in the form of dark chocolate, aged bourbon and 100% DEET. Comfort while wandering the high places hassling fish is of course a relative and personal thing. Choose wisely to suffer well.
You sneak into the Wind River Range under the cover of darkness. The long dirt road ends and the crisp late August air is thick with pine and mosquitoes. The plan is simple: no real plan. Pick a few targets on the glacially-scoured backbone of the Continental Divide, and convince your legs to take you there for a look. Fish everything in sight. Go.
LINK (via: Sage)
