First cast I missed a really small brookie; next cast this fat female blasted the #16 Orange Stimulator and...for the next couple hours we enjoyed some of the fastest, bestest little crick fishing of the season. Since this was the first trout of the day and a particularly fat one at that I snapped a quick pix before handing the rod to Gale who promply hooked an equally fat one a few yards upstream. Then it was my turn and two or three casts was all it took--although this one was teeny-tiny compared to the first two. No matter, big ones, leetle ones, continued to attack the Stimi often three or four to a run. The males are especially colorful since spawning is just around the corner in these high country cricks. But even the tinest were fat and healthy and I would suppose happy, at least before and after the ordeal of being stuck on a hook for a few brief moments.
Away from the crick the air was sultry, way too summer-like for our tastes but with our feet in the chilly crick it seemed more fall-like, quite pleasant actually. For a short time the wind kicked up and made for tricky casting but then the wind gods decided to take pity and the stiff breeze suddenly morphed into just a whisper making a hot afternoon all that more comfortable.
What with fresh elk tracks in the sand, the shimmering crick framed in flaming aspens and willows beneath your typical wide, blue, cloudless Big Sky, the already snow-splashed granite peaks of the Beaverheads for a backdrop, trout on the take, the dogs behaving (sort of anyway) for a change...hell, can't beat it.
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