The mountain men called it the Rendezvous. They would come down from the Rocky Mountains where they trapped beaver in ice cold streams and avoided being scalped by Indians. Much of their life was alone. Coming back to the world was a time to reunite with their lot of men and tell lies about where they had been and what they had seen. Excessive drinking and hollering was the norm. Overall hell raising would ensue for weeks. Their story is the birthplace of the name Shemchuk Rendezvous --- only ours entails less hell raising and more fly fishing.
A wince. Perhaps a groan. And then another cast. “Ahhh. That was a fish.”
We have all missed a trout we were not expecting. Unprepared. Distracted. Complacent. But there are two times it happens that should not surprise us. Two parts of the drift that are sometimes forgotten. Forgotten by us, but not the trout.
It was August on the Bighorn River when I learned that trout are lazy.