We sat on the riverbank, in the rain. In the dark. Barely speaking, and even then, only in whispers.
We'd just hiked two miles through ferns and mud, tripping over barely illuminated logs downed by recent storms.
And we waited. Waited for the light to bring us glimpses of steel. Glistening steel.
By sunrise, we were already soaked. We stayed that way the rest of the day.
But it didn't matter. We wouldn't have wanted it any other way.
We had come for steelhead. Winter steelhead.