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One day prior a chance slipped by, my schedule too full to allow the briefest of sojourns to a nearby river. 

But a second sunny day could not be dismissed. Projects pushed aside, a couple of hours in the morning sun. Less than 1 mile from a population of 150,000 people, I stood on a small iced area of the river bank, a place I call “Nick’s Drift.” Over next 120 minutes I meandered back and forth across the shallows, casting into the deeper pools and riffles.

It didn’t take long to land a small rainbow, followed by a skinny brown two casts later. Winter sometimes means leaner fish, but I’m here as much for the solitude and rhythmic interludes of casting as I am catching a fish.

My heart rests easy, my soul smiles. I return home-satisfied-at least for now.

"Nick's Drift" from upriver

“Nick’s Drift” from upriver

Bright and early-fish #1

Bright and early-fish #1

Casting-this time my gaze

Casting-this time my gaze

Another "bullet 'bow"

Another “bullet ‘bow”

A truth carved in stone.

A truth carved in stone.

A final look-until next time.

A final look-until next time.

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