Labor Day Weekend. 1 of 3

Labor day, 2009. This was a very challenging weekend for me. This weekend was to be a benchmark towards the rest of my life. In itself, this particular weekend holds no meaning for me other then the fact that at this time last year I was contently and blissfully living in Oregon working towards what at the time I thought was the true American dream. Through faults of my own and events that at the time I had no understanding of how to control, I found myself adrift in the world...homeless, single, unemployed and with very little to show for years of hard work, dedication and dreams. From there on out it has been an uphill struggle during which I have refused to let events shape who I am...instead shaping the events around me.

I have few regrets and despite a few false starts...regardless of having missed another opportunity and finding myself adrift yet again, one full year later, I am confident and proud of what I have overcome and who I am.

What better place to express that but by visiting my very own personal cathedral. My brother Scott and I had decided to hike even further into the Bob Marshall wilderness to get above where few people on foot will travel. We didn't quite make it as far as we intended, but I am confident that we can make it at least five more miles up without too much difficulty. But that will be a journey for another time. Fall has hit the highlands and in a few short weeks, fall rain s and winter snow will lock this region up for the next eight or more months.

One mile in. A different look at a scene pictured in a previous post. Note the haze in the air. A small fire triggered by what must have been a lightening strike the night before created a slight smoke screen to soften the light. It rained quite heavily the day before and though blustery and brisk at 50 degrees, the day dawned promising and with us on the way to paradise.

A gentle slop, straight into the 40 degree water. Morning dew made even this treacherous. This shot was taken about 2 miles up from the previous picture looking down stream.

Time for breakfast and time to break out the fishing gear and start fishing up. Our goal was to make it about six or seven miles...but unfortunately we only made it about five and a half. I guess that is what happens when you hike to fish. You spend too much time fishing and not enough time hiking. In this case it was a good thing. I was a tired pup by this time and the day was still very young. The farther you walk in...the longer you have to walk to get out. I am not as young as I once was and am twice as old as I sometimes think I aught to be.

Brother Scott, de-hooking one of many hard hitting trout.

Another truly great cutthroat trout. This fat ol boy sat patiently while I pulled the hook and then proceeded to slap me three times in the face before doing a dive back into the water. I guess he was camera shy. I think I did more damage holding against dry clothing vs letting him slam against the rocks. Check out his color and sheen. This is yet another example of a healthy fish in a pristine environment.

Something Different...something wet and something shaggy.

The photos from here on out and the photos in the next two posts were taken during the walk back. The threat of rain, falls and water kept the camera thoroughly stowed out of reach in my pack.

Clamouring up through a crack in the rock. This is definitely not an "easy" place to fish. Amazingly we have been in here four times this year, covered a few dozen combined miles of trails and have seen very little bear sign and no bears. That is a good thing and it is a trend that I am more than willing to continue.

More in the next two posts....