Two or three times I’ve driven a great distance across a high plains desert to fish dry flies on a wonderful spring creek. It’s just miles and miles of sagebrush, the odd cow, then an unexpected crystal clear serpentine creek. Kind of a mirage.
I grew up in an eastern region with a lot of precipitation; green and lush three seasons of the year and where many small trout streams are canopied; and yet my favorite rivers in the west are out on the dry alkaline flats or ones that flow through barren rolling windswept hills. Go figure. I like the openness and the light, and that the trout are where it seems they shouldn’t be.
Here are some high-speed car shots on the way to the creek from several years ago…and the creek.