The Henry’s Fork of the Snake River has been written about, reminisced on, and generally extolled to absurdity. It’s all true though. I have to go there occasionally just to empty myself. It’s not a fast and furious fishing river, it’s a slow pace that requies long moments of silence and watching and waiting. Somewhere in the watching, I can usually restore myself to sanity (or lose it altogether). I recall one time in mid-summer – waiting for the Pale Morning Duns to hatch – a fellow had flown out from Japan – he would stand along the river banks, his lips chapped and painfully cracked – he couldn’t speak much english – he would stand along the banks waiting – like a statue – when he was in the water you knew it was time. These are some snapshots from an early October trip – hoping to catch the Baetis hatch –
Shaken Rain 