Trout Bum Road Trip 2024
09 Oct 2024
Re-entering civilization from a 15-day, no reservations, gypsy road/off grid vacation (ok, ok, minus one night of pure, unexpected luxury) is not for the faint of heart. Most certainly, an extra scoop of fortitude is required when jumping back into a semi-routine lifestyle determined by a preset schedule and a wristwatch! The shock is enough to shake the system and make it long for wide open spaces again, which is a very, very good thing!
Each time I transition back home, part of me feels as though a few chips of my soul still reside out somewhere along a trout stream; the mind vacillates between moments of earth and sky, where colors change with seasons like liquid amber light before our eyes.
And so it goes.
Yet it is in the in-between time that we find the most clarity: faithfully returned once again and ever restored with a deeper sense of purpose, refreshed with layers of sincere gratitude, looking and longing for the next great adventure.
If you followed along with us on this year's Trout Bum Road Trip via social media, we did our best to pop in on Wi-Fi opportunities to share some inspiration with you, as beauty was discovered in each turn of the bend. Albeit a bend found off the beaten path of a narrow goat trail, complete with warning signs, or a deep bend in a favorite fly rod that’s been calling from the closet for far too long, literally everywhere we went was a page out of an anglers dreamscape.
When we’re not hosting a trip abroad or meeting up with a local nonprofit for charity while testing up-and-coming products, Joel and I get a chance to use and fish our personal quiver of equipment we really love. While a number of those items are relatively new, some of our very favorites match what we’ve come to see each day in the mirror, dripping with time-honored patina.
I always love it when I get a dose of my own medicine: reminding Anglers in classes that we say it’s “fishing” and not “catching” for good reason. As we explored many new watersheds over our trek, certain places that appeared to hold fish revealed far more than that of a solid hook set. Every place we took pause to wet a line was that out of an Ansel Adams photography gallery. Quite literally, the views were so breathtaking that there were times I was brought to my knees in humble reverence.
As a proud Bird Nerd, my Merlin Cornell Bird ID App sucked more juice from my phone than anything this trip. Each day held a new Life List species, and in the nighttime, we found serenades from various hooting owls and a few grunts of nearby Moose. Deep in the night and before dawn, the crisp air was filled with songs of bugling Elk beneath a Milkway Galaxy so still, and bright one could count the stars to oblivion.
I sip hot coffee and grip the warm cup of oatmeal, which helps heat up my cold hands, as we watch the stars fade with new morning light. The day is new, and we give thanks. We break camp and wader up.
With each solid cast, we hope. With each new fly we tie on, we imagine the rise and anticipate the take. With the best of intentions and experience, we still spooked fish, watched resting giants ignore a myriad of offerings, wrapped fly lines around looming Willows as well as our heads, donated flies to the River Gods, missed the hook sets, and watched in amazement for hours before and after sunset for a single rise never to been seen.
Yes, we tricked a few trophies along the way and were fooled by one giant Whitey who crushed my dry fly (please Insert my raised eyebrow, exhale of a giggle, and slightly irked expression HERE).
THIS is “fishing”, folks, but I truly think this sporting adventure should be deemed as “living”, and I couldn’t recommend it more.
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