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Yellow Days Revisited


peetso

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" . . . how it happens,

well it disappears as it happens, doesn't it

not everything is capturable,

hard as we try.

Like this summer we're in presently.

It's going.

It's going, going, gone . . . "

 

 

Winter lurks.

 

It can be seen it the morning air, felt in the evening breeze . . .

 

It will show up soon. Soon enough, anyways . . .

 

. . . but near the end of September, the last of the "yellow days", it was

still wet wading in the afternoon. Still casting to rising fish. Still

drinking summer seasonals. Still eating outdoors. Still driving with the

windows down. Still basking in the warmth of the sun.

 

Still resolute in the belief that summer would last another month. Another

week. Another day at least.

 

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I had a week, several maps and a favourable forecast.

 

I took the last part of September to make the most of those precious few remaining "yellow days"

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Click here if the movie does not play.

 

6 hours from home, 0 cell service.

 

New water and a chance to wander.

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Fishing new water always feels the same, sort of like dancing to a song you've never heard. By the time you figure out the rhythm, the song ends and it's time to leave.

 

But at least you leave with a little more info gleaned.

 

And new water won't be as new, the next time you return to wander these banks.

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:bow: :bow: :bow:

 

Hitting the "LIKE" button just doesn't seem like enough.

Maybe we should have 3 buttons: "LIKE THIS", "LOVE THIS", and "HOLY F***!!!"

You never disappoint, Peetso. Your pics are phenomenal, as usual; your words just take your posts to the next level.

Thanks.

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Familiar water affords you time. Allows you to slow down.

 

There is no rush to beat the crowds to the public access. If they're full, a quick coffee at a local rancher's will have you on a prime stretch in half an hour.

 

So you can sleep in. Eat a full breakfast. Wait until the water warms up and leave the waders behind.

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Precious minutes aren't wasted figuring out what the fish are eating. You've already got a hunch before you reach the water.

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Ants.

 

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Crickets.

 

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Where they're hiding is evident. You know where the good holding water is.

 

You can gradually pick your way through the pocket water, ignored by the others in search of more obvious pools.

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There is no rush to see what's around the upstream bend. You've been there before. So instead of racing ahead. You can move with ease and explore the smaller intricacies of that particular water.

 

This extra time allows you to slow down and enjoy each moment as they happen.

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And as the sun sets on the river you never feel as if you've ran out of time. You know that's all there was to begin with.

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  • 2 months later...

Click here if the movie does not play.

 

 

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Hit the road and traveled a little further south. Everybody will know where this is, but it was my first time on this particular piece of water.

 

Checked into the Yellow Days Inn.

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The maid service sucked

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And the food was merely adequate. More fuel than food really.

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But the views were spectacular.

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As were the nearby attractions.

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The wind blew hard through the gap the entire day, everybody who came and strung up decided to leave.

I hung around and had the place to myself for most of the day.

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  • 2 weeks later...

 

Fishing new water always feels the same, sort of like dancing to a song you've never heard. By the time you figure out the rhythm, the song ends and it's time to leave.

 

But at least you leave with a little more info gleaned.

 

And new water won't be as new, the next time you return to wander these banks.

 

Truer words could not be spoken. I love how you described that. I've had a TON of new water experiences since moving south of hwy 3 six years ago. Some great, some left me wondering if I'd ever see a fish, some blew me away and few ended in dissappointment or barbed wire, but all were a journey and learning to enjoy the journey instead of reaching for the end goal, is the key to happiness.

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  • 2 weeks later...

 

Turned the truck north and headed home. Made time for one last stop. Another chance to wander new water.

 

It was the last day of the trip, the last day of my season.

 

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Yellow days disappear, summer fires die. It's an inevitability that all of us who live in northern locales accept. That's just how it is. A long, cold winter sets in and "Rent-a-movie weather" always comes.

 

But so does spring.

 

The chinook winds will begin to blow and the first crocuses will show up. We will shed our heavy coats, our gloves, our toques, our winter boots. The snow will melt. The rivers will thaw. The sun will shine.

 

And the yellow days will return.

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Get in touch when you come south...

 

will do.

 

maybe sometime this winter, i'll buy the beers . . . but i may need some instruction on winter fishing.

 

as i am utterly inept with bobbers and nymphs . . . a lifetime of grayling, high country cutts and pike will do that . . . it's quite sad acutally.

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