Serving Waitsburg, Dayton and the Touchet Valley
The high cumulonimbus clouds born of afternoon heat, dust particulate, and inexplicable humidity morphed into a nebulous gray bank of doom. Nate and I were headed east into the Blues for an evening of temping mountain rainbows with big dry flies – his last outing before moving to New England two days hence.
"Seems to storm every evening I fish the Blues," I said as we wound out of the foothills into the mountain canyon.
"A little rain just makes the fishing better," Nate replied, ignoring the potential for lightning strikes.
With lightning in mind (or my wish to avoid it), I selected a river r...
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