Whooo. I hate traffic. Let’s just get that out of the way. My version of traffic is too many rigs at the take out, or moose, or fucken deer. The pass was good. I haven’t taken the boat over the pass in a bit. Snowed a little in Roslyn. I spent the morning prepping the boat. I had to repair my safety chains, and patch a hole in my hull. Had to drain the water out before it froze.
I hit Port Angeles around 3. Troy my vagabond trout bum, roomate both on and off water, guide buddy showed up after 6. Had to do a supply run at REI. I was on groceries. We are camping at Salt Creek on the Strait. I can hear the water crashing just over the cliff edge. We had to fend of some pesky racoons that got a little brash. I decided to try and be friends and that seems to have kept them at bay. Apparently they don’t like me.
The fire is waning down. Subtle cracks and cackles as the embers turn a deep orange. I can’t get over the sound of the water. It’s so different. Yet familiar. The crashes keep the silence just out of earshot. The dark is deeper here. The clouds lock you into it. There is little light pollution. Oh to be able to see the stars this eve.
I saw the snow capped Olympics as I came in. The call to the rivers they breath life into beckons ever louder now that I am in their presence. Like the sound of the salt water crashing and pulling and crashing and pulling…like the waters of the rivers I intend to fish…pulling all into the sea and giving back as thing return and pass on to the next ebb and flow, crash and pull. It is good to be outside anglers…good to chase fish, new adventure, and share tine with friends old and new.
See ya riverside in the wet anglers.