Paul's truck pulled in under the lights of Boise International, glancing at my watch, it would soon be tomorrow. It was dark.
Five hours later we were back on the road. It was still dark. Pointed west we climbed out of greater Boise and its surrounding burbs. Amped with anticipation we turned the radio up, Van Hallen was as good as caffeine this morning, maybe better.
Crossing over the Snake and leaving potato-land, onion skins swept across the road in front of like leaves. Looking out the passenger window, roosters marched the fence lines separating crop from field and field from farm. As Paul and I drew closer to the river, our energy climbed inside the cab. We pulled up alongside the tail water, driving the road up the canyon following the river. As we passed by locations, Paul called out their local-names; the Donkey-Hole, XYZ -Bend, and something-fork. Too busy watching the river, I didn't catch the last one.
We rigged up two rods, but fished one. Over the years Paul and I have grown to fishing one rod, alternating between fish and angler. Hook-one and hand over the rod. Sometimes we will fish like this all day. Lost in conversation, analyzing the situation at hand, and just generally enjoying each others company.
With-in four casts Paul had his first fish, and passed the stick over. We went on like this for a good five six hours, sticking fish, laughing, singing, and doing what guys do when the fishing is good. At the end of the day I had lost count to how many fish we had brought to hand, but it was somewhere north of thirty and south of fifty, if I had to guess. A good day by any measure.
Day 6 - More to come, North country.