Yesterday the bright sun glinted on the swirling river and refracted down to the depths of clear water, deep churning boulders rocks pebbles caught in the surge, scouring the channel.

Thick foliage of dark evergreens and scarlet vine maple arcing over the banks blur the edges, muffle the roar of water, belie the quickness and ferocity of the river.

Here there are trout, quicksilver come alive, dappled and slick.

Happy is the man who catches his limit standing on the bank beside the rolling deep, feeling in his joints the weight of the water and the thud of plunge pools. The exhaustion of standing beside big water all day is akin to exhilaration.

The vermillion and gold leaves drifting downstream trace patterns and trajectory on the black surface of the river, the wind whips the trees high above on both banks. Fog and mist swirls like the river water, the back water, the riffling eddies and deflections within the water.

Happy is the man who cooks the five big trout and is instructed to go fishing again tomorrow, no excuses.