The mountains are shrouded.  Their folds and peaks covered by wispy soft clouds hung heavy with the passing rain. The sun pokes through the deep blue, illuminating the emerald green river that flows its familiar path through the canyon.

I drove highway 10 this afternoon.  I haven’t set eyes on the Yakima since October. I missed it.

I have made a trade of water.  The tannin leaf filled rivers of Michigan, slow and shallow, sandy and filled with logs, twigs, and sticks…teeming with fish waiting for winter to break.

For the wide, deep, and fast rolling rivers of the west.  The familiar Yakima River, every inch known, fish named, riffle, run, pocket, shelf as if it were my own home. The feel of the river under the boat, and the steady beating of oars against the fast and predictable current.

I missed parts of this place. The change in scenery since October has been vast. The Yakima is but an ever so small piece of the world of fishing and the world in general. Travel reminds me of the comfort of this place but also how much I long for different. 

Now I get to travel between the two.  Trading the waters of one place for another, enjoying each and rediscovering a passion for the old, and exploring, fulfilling passions with the new.

I am happy to be back.  I am excited to embrace the river after a long offseason away.  To share in experiences the river blesses us with.  To tickle a trout, create a smile, shake a hand, and release a fish.  A trade of water.

Tamarack

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