24
The dawn light had filled the sky but hadn’t reached down to the deeply forested river except for moments here and there when it filtered through the branches, bringing the water to radiant life.
The smoky scent of last night’s campfire was gone, fully suppressed as only a wildland firefighter could do. In its place, the air was rich and thick with a morning mist that lay low to the water, and the taste of pine and dreams.
Carly thought she was first up until she reached the river’s edge.
A hundred feet upriver, knee-deep in the flowing water, ICA Henderson had his pole out, tip pointed upstream as he nursed his line along with tiny tugs to make it look like a bug dancing on the surface.
What fly would he be using? She chose the Adams. It had always served her well with trout, the
