You reach the trailhead an hour before sunrise and are rewarded by an empty parking lot. According to your GPS the river is a two hour trek into the backcountry with some serious elevation gain. This alone should keep others off your heels, but you hurry along nonetheless. One last swig from your water bottle and a couple last minute additions to your backpack and you are good to go. With a fly rod in one hand and another on your back you set off toward your destination, your boots making first tracks down a faint but well marked trail.

Several miles in you come to a clearing in the woods and you get your first visual of the river below. Before making your descent you pause and breathe in the vastness of the valley and the rich tapestry of evergreens intricately woven across the mountainside. A fine mist rises from the water and intermingles with the light just beginning to crest the ridgeline. You know you’re not the first to ever take in this view, but you are today and that’s good enough.

Once on the valley floor you approach the river casually. No need to turn stones today. These trout are aggressive and probably haven’t seen a fly for days, any dry attractor will move fish. Within several minutes you’re into your first trout. It’s a brown and a nice bend in the rod. You continue upstream as minutes turn into hours. Before you know it afternoon has come.

Your greatest enemy the sun, as it chases the horizon line, or maybe an occasional snag from a tree, or the indecision of what bug to put on. Other than that you are unencumbered and unaware of anything but the smell of fir and wet earth melding in the warmth of late afternoon, and your fly drifting effortlessly atop the surface of the water, ripple after ripple.

The further upstream you fish the further away from reality you seem to get, and just as the world has faded from your memory, so has the sun from the landscape. You know you need to make camp soon, but the trout are still feeding and you aren’t about to hang it up, not yet anyway. Desperately trying to thwart day’s end you throw on another layer to beat the chill. Finally darkness prevails and your visual of trout noses dimpling the water is gone.

You find the trail again, but it is thin now and it soon disappears completely. The beam of your headlamp burns through the darkness and illuminates the unknown, one tree at a time. Another several hundred feet up river you stumble upon an old camp site tucked back against the mountain. A sparse fire ring marks the place where past fisherman have found refuge. You do the same.

After a quick meal and assessment of the map you get your bearings and set a plan for day two. You realize the best fishing is yet to come, for the valley is narrowing and the fish are only getting bigger. As you climb into your bag and settle in for the cold night ahead you listen to the sound of the river as it descends through the upper canyon. The forest around you silent as it is black. Like a kid on Christmas Eve your excitement builds.

You are alone in the woods.