Made a trip up to the Lake Tahoe area to the old Summer cabin that was in the "Fall" mode, with all the leaves turning on the Aspen trees and the yellow and orange colors starting to take over the light green color that was normal for the area.
The evenings and mornings were also getting crisp with a fire being lit in the old Ben Franklin stove, a pleasant welcome in the mornings, now, with the lows in the 40's before the sun peaked over the canyon walls.
This was a long awaited fishing trip for three old timers with gray hair and aging eyes, that remembered the good old days when we were young teenagers, running all over the hills to streams and lakes to bring home trout to our parents and neighbors, in the near by cabins, to enjoy.
My father showed us the art of using a fly rod at around twelve
years of age and if the willows and trees were too thick, how to also dabble a worm in the cold snow melt waters, if needed, to lure a trout to take our offering.
We were hoping for a nice warm Fall day on this trip but the God's were in a bad mood and we had to settle for a cold wind, that made for a medium heavy jacket to cut the winds chill and some even put on a knit cap for a little added warmth.
Arriving at one of our old hang outs, we got out to stretch our legs and start a long walk through a field in a valley that had a stream running through it, that came from high Sierra mountains above 7,700 feet , that offered melting snow water
almost year around as well as natural springs to add to the flows.
In this High mountain beauty, and fresh air, was the place that our dreams were made of, for the hope of catching some Wild Native Eastern Brook Trout, which we think, are the best tasting trout in the area, at this lower elevation.
We watched one another as we tested our rusty skills and laughed at one another as we missed setting the hook on fish, again and again. After a while the skills and timing started to fall into place and the trout started to appear in the air, and swing closer the the fisherman, to be released or placed in a creel, to be taken home, to enjoy.
After a while, we did not mind the chill or the wind as the memories and warmth of old friendships warned our body, on this afternoon outing.
A great trip with wild trout and all fishermen returning to the parking area with no injuries and even more stories to be told in the years to come.
Here is a picture of one of the reasons that we love this area and welcome a short visit now and then to visit with old friends and tell a few lies.
The evenings and mornings were also getting crisp with a fire being lit in the old Ben Franklin stove, a pleasant welcome in the mornings, now, with the lows in the 40's before the sun peaked over the canyon walls.
This was a long awaited fishing trip for three old timers with gray hair and aging eyes, that remembered the good old days when we were young teenagers, running all over the hills to streams and lakes to bring home trout to our parents and neighbors, in the near by cabins, to enjoy.
My father showed us the art of using a fly rod at around twelve
years of age and if the willows and trees were too thick, how to also dabble a worm in the cold snow melt waters, if needed, to lure a trout to take our offering.
We were hoping for a nice warm Fall day on this trip but the God's were in a bad mood and we had to settle for a cold wind, that made for a medium heavy jacket to cut the winds chill and some even put on a knit cap for a little added warmth.
Arriving at one of our old hang outs, we got out to stretch our legs and start a long walk through a field in a valley that had a stream running through it, that came from high Sierra mountains above 7,700 feet , that offered melting snow water
almost year around as well as natural springs to add to the flows.
In this High mountain beauty, and fresh air, was the place that our dreams were made of, for the hope of catching some Wild Native Eastern Brook Trout, which we think, are the best tasting trout in the area, at this lower elevation.
We watched one another as we tested our rusty skills and laughed at one another as we missed setting the hook on fish, again and again. After a while the skills and timing started to fall into place and the trout started to appear in the air, and swing closer the the fisherman, to be released or placed in a creel, to be taken home, to enjoy.
After a while, we did not mind the chill or the wind as the memories and warmth of old friendships warned our body, on this afternoon outing.
A great trip with wild trout and all fishermen returning to the parking area with no injuries and even more stories to be told in the years to come.
Here is a picture of one of the reasons that we love this area and welcome a short visit now and then to visit with old friends and tell a few lies.
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