Deschutes River in August. The campgrounds resemble refugee camps. Flattened tents and twisted awnings mangled by desert winds litter the dumpsters. Steelhead counts over Bonneville Dam are low, but one never knows unless they go.
I’m guaranteed a skunking mowing my lawn at home. So here I am.
After a dawn session, fishing spent caddis for trout, I escape downriver from the rumbling school busses and trailers packed high with rafts. It’s sunny, and the odds are against me, but I will launch a skater to lose myself in the wonder wake.
The wonder wake is that sweet v-shaped wake behind a skater, the big skies, the canyon walls, and the wandering — wondering mind.
