Earlier in the day, the trout on Rock Creek almost jumped into my creel. I’d parked alongside the road and hiked overland to a rarely fished stretch, not another fisherman in sight. Anywhere. I loved both the solitude and lack of competition. The first hole yielded a small brown, maybe 8”, who likely appreciated being returned to his frigid home.

He was the first of twelve trout caught in just over two hours that day; two were keepers at 14” each, and provided dinner for Sheila and me my first night back. Pizza at the campground’s café and a hot shower seemed to top off the day. But God was yet to surprise me. Relaxing in the small cabin…