A late spring day along Cedar Run presented the old familiar challenge– lucky to catch and release a single trout in tough conditions. There was beauty, though, reflected from each small waterfall, each pool and riffle, from the deep green foliage of the rugged slopes– and for that we could be grateful.
Bob and I passed the mountain camp called “Whippoorwill,” and we discussed the various dynamics of the goatsucker species and its current rarity in places such as western New York. We settled on the Pine Creek flats where tributaries cooled the water and allowed continued brown trout fishing till the summer heat eventually shuts it down.
Cruising fish ignored our self-tied artificials through the late afternoon. Only the approach of darkness (and the residues of hotel food and drink) could smooth the edges of frustration. Vanishing light was like a poem that’s listened to– its music more than just a literary ornament.
The night simply opened with the rhythmic calling of a whip-poor-will at dusk along the Pine. It opened with the spread wings of a luna moth floating through the headlights on the homeward drive. Like the best of poetry, it spoke with a minimum of words but resonated through a distant range of wonder.
[The following photos, taken experimentally with a new Nikon camera, are from various locations visited this past Spring. I hope you enjoy the backward glance, as Summer beckons to us all…]