Logging In (for Humberto Suaste)

We looked for openings along the shoreline or old
driftwood rafts where we might get out for a clean cast.
Either the alder or small spruce grew right down to the
edge or it was a shallow bottom of silt. The only deep
pools were under steep, high rocks. Bet then, at the south
end of the lake, just before it emptied into its alpine creek,
I found an old deadfall held out of the water by some
rocks and relatively steady. It had a few patches of slippery
moss here and there but mostly it was dry so I could walk
out end of it and get a good cast into fairly deep
water just above the mouth of the creek. At first I tried
a spinner, a "Deadly Dick," but it was still day and the
cutthroat weren't going for it. Then I tried a bobber, six
feet of leader, and a fly, a "Coachman." That did it. I pulled
about eight or nine out of that spot in less than half an
hour. The end of the log was also a good place to clean
them, so I did, throwing the offal back into the water so
the bears wouldn't start hanging around this log. That log
was a partner and I can see its gracious gesture of falling
onto the shore as a kind of gift, an imagistic memento of
weathered possibility.