In the morning, he claims, the fishing starts out okay but then just keeps getting worse. Besides, he
says, who wants to crawl out  of a warm bed at dawn on a chilly autumn morning? Said another way,
Who’d want a splendid Idaho spring creek all to themselves?




Hoppers on the bank, stiff and clumsy with the cold. A few refrigerated BWOs coming off, drifting nymphs,
the ever-present scuds. Maybe suspend a PheasantTail beneath a hopper, cover the bases, cover the water,
look for feeding fish in the low golden light. There’s one, two, four just upstream. And we have the place
all to ourselves, while the evening hatch of anglers still dawdle over bacon and eggs.