A Moment on the South Platte:

The old familiar road wound serpentine past the Deckers bridge and on to stories for another day.  Walking up the path I’d traveled so many times, Ray’s Run came into shadowed view.  It was around 5:45 in the morning. Serene for a few more moments.

Sometimes you’ll find down there, a bit to your left and short stumble down, a sort of marsh.  The current has slowed from the main stream, dark and stagnant with an uncertain bottom. 

But just outside that, the clear unhindered mainstream gets its first illumination of the dawn.  And then, there they are.  Four browns in casual formation – knowing nothing specific about what assault is to soon befall them.  Though I know they are subtly aggravated by a perhaps distant memory of a shadow from the shore, of a prick from a tiny size 24 hook or even worse, the jarring experience of the net.

The plan was to meet up with the clients here. My friend and fellow guide Karbo would show them the way. I could hear them coming along the trail; talking, laughing, a woman with a New York accent. How out of place?  But I guess it is I that am out of place.

We begin to instruct.  Fish are hooked quickly. Some are landed and some lost. Our voices break the silence of dawn. And then there are no more strikes. No more glowing Browns.

What has changed?  The fish are no longer interested in what we have to offer. It seems to me that the fish have memorized the pattern and avoid us. What is the pattern? The pattern is that this happens every day. Anglers and the accompanying assault arrive with the dawn, or slightly after, and the fish go into hiding; under rocks, and within the undercut banks.

While they were glowing it was a beautiful moment.