The Curse

If you ever find yourself in any kind of line behind me, do yourself a favor and get in any other line you can - immediately.  Because whatever line I'm in...it's the wrong effing line!  Guaranteed. 

Crossing the border today?  Slowest stinking line both ways, thank you very much.  On the way back across to the good ol' U S of A not only was I in the slowest line, but I made a bold move to get to a new line, and wouldn't you know it, that instantly became the line from hell.  I think the booth bastard gave out four red cards in the six cars ahead of me.  The other lines were moving along just fine, especially the one I had left earlier.  Might as well have just swam back from Point Roberts, at least there wouldn't have been a damn line.  Cursed, I tell you!

Forget Idaho

Miss Idaho?  Hell no!

Had one of the best weekends fishing, ever.  Eagles, bears, silvers, dollies, and I had the whole stretch of river to myself.  Not one other fisherman, not one piece of trash or chunk of line.  Blue skies, white glaciers, green trees, and crystal clear waters.

No where else I would have rather been.  Forgot the camera - oh well, I remembered the switch rod and the flies.  Caught fish on the swing and even a couple skating last night. 

Pictures are from a couple of years ago.

I Miss Yellowstone

I don't miss living in Idaho much any more.  Tomorrow I'm heading up into the North Cascades to do some fishing and hiking.  It should be another gorgeous fall day.  When I get up there amongst the big trees, the glacier-clad peaks, and the emerald green water, I know I won't want to be anywhere else - that place has that kind of effect.

Tonight, however, I've been thinking of Yellowstone and how this is about the same weekend I used to go up into the Park for the annual Fall weekend.  I would always camp along the Henry's Fork Friday night, and Saturday morning I'd fish the Coffee Pot section for the nice rainbows that would follow around the spawning kokanee.

Later in the morning, I'd pack up camp and drive into West Yellowstone.  The mandatory stop in West was always Ernie's.  This little place always made the best sandwiches and cookies anywhere.  Next, it was into The Park to fish the Lamar River and Soda Butte Creek.  Saturday night was usually a campfire under the stars listening to the elk bugle all night somewhere in Yellowstone.

Sunday was always the big drive down into the Tetons, either for a short hike or onward for a little fishing time on the South Fork of the Snake River.  This was always followed by the long drive home across southern Idaho and a late night home arrival.

I'll take Washington over Idaho ten months of the year, but it's tough to beat the Rocky Mountains in September and October.  I'll have to start playing the lottery.

No more fall in Yellowstone, but I can't complain about this stretch of river I'll be on tomorrow.