That’s the Taylor River in southwest Colorado up there. The little figure in the white hat on the left side of the frame high-sticking a 4-wt fly rod is me. The sky is that color because a thunderstorm has just passed through the valley, and while the noise and lightning are over, the clouds are still thinning causing refractions in the sun’s setting rays. Moments earlier a double rainbow filled the sky, but a unicorn never came. Only trout after trout after trout. Feasting on mayflies tied with feathers and string. It was full dark before we thought to wade back across, and then still it was one more cast. Just one more. The bats swooped around our shoulders as we slipped and slid on hidden river rocks back to the side where we’d left the keys, the car, the phones, the day behind.

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