That first awe-filled gaze around the shoreline of an alpine lake is always gratifying, so when that reward ebbs, you know it's time for a break. The high lakes have all blended together in my eyes; their beauty's effect has paused.
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| Beauty blindness has triggered a revolution in fishing environs, for now. |
This thought triggers a private reflection.
"Yeah, but the highs are lower and days are shorter, and I need to pack the mountain trips in while I can."
"Yeah, but the macks are migrating and the browns are moving, and the lakes all look the same."
...woe is me, an angler's dilemma...
Then I remembered: There's a small impoundment on a small creek at about 6,100 feet. In June it's a small-brown fishery, but for some reason, come October, it's big-brown town. Does that qualify as a mountain lake? It does this weekend.
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