The day began with thick cumulus clouds that, instead of growing, began to fracture. By ten the sky was glowing with cottony clumps. It’s interesting to watch the parade of cloud types out here in the mountains. These were shrinking, so the air must have been dry. Fish like the unsettled weather and “fisherfolk” were grinning as the trico mayflies began to rise from the river at nearly ten o’clock sharp.
At noon a couple met to check their messages. She wore her riding gear and he his fishing equipment. Each had spent the morning with one of their boys, doing the parent’s favorite activity. Tomorrow they’ll switch so both get quality time.
After lunch, in the warmth of the sun, a dozen kids and parents climbed into the vintage 1953 farm truck that was already loaded with inner tubes. Two miles upriver they gingerly edged into the cold currrent for a noisy, laughing trip back to the Ranch, joining the lines of bubbles and waterfowl in the river. When they floated under the bald eagles’ nest they looked up, but no one was home at the moment. On the shore a family of blue grouse chortled noisily to keep together as they hunted in the reeds and rushes below hundred year old cottonwood trees, looking for bugs and seeds. Cliff, barn and tree swallows were already out seining the air for mayflies, but especially for mosquitoes â€”go swallows!