Spend a couple hours on washboard roads, gritting your teeth, and listening to parts of your truck gradually loosen and begin to rattle….
Find the river. Turn, drive upstream. Find the right pullout where the little valley spills in from the other side….
Pull over there. Jump out. Let the dogs jump out and sniff and pee on stuff. Stretch with excitement in the sudden quiet….
Assemble your gear, whistle the pups into line, and start hiking. Wade the river, and leave two good beers in the mouth of the creek. Head up that valley….
Give it an hour, that should be enough. Turn down to the creek at the dead tree, just past the big rock, but if you hit that clump of bushes you’ve gone too far…
Stick the key in the lock, say the password, kneel at the altar, rub your lucky rock, take a sip of whiskey….
Or whatever you think works….
You’ll see the pool where you should start. You wouldn’t think that it’d hold that many fish, ….but it might. You won’t think any of them will crack two feet, bend out a tube-fly hook, lead you a hundred yards downstream, or almost beach themselves chasing your fly into the shallows, either….
But they might. One way to find out.