Editor's note: The author is Irish and a known prevaricator. Choose to believe his story if you wish…
by Tim Robinson
Above Covington, east of Kent, in the summer, the Green River runs low and clear. The deep pools of emerald water wend their way downstream, like crinkled foil, reflecting a flash of light; the cool life's blood of fish and other aquatic curiosities , makes its way to the Kent valley.
The promise of 80-degree weather hurried my morning activities. The alarm clock had shaken my senses at 5:30 a.m... We're goin fishun'.
With my arm securely resting on my cooler of sandwiches and beer, my wife caught some extra zzz's as the dawn lit the highway before me. I envisioned thoughts of lunkers finning in the depths.
We selected a proper spot at the river's edge and set up camp. I prepared my gear while my wife went foraging for flora and fauna collectibles.
On this section of the river steep rock banks protect and guide the water on its rippling journey. Large shadows from those banks create dark havens for steelhead trout. Calmly they wait. They must be patient for the next freshet of rain water to advance their upstream journey.More ›