This ain't Livingston MT, but it sure in the hell has felt like it the last few days. We've been pummeled by wind. My face looks like Jim Harrison's. The wind can lead a man to drink, instead of Jim's Vodka in the afternoon, I choose a good IPA. Of course, I was stupid enough to guide in it yesterday, which in turn actually came out to be alright. If you waited for the tumbleweeds to float by, put it in the lane, fish would eat your fly. The water's a cold 42 degrees in the desert, but the fish are big, and if you can't make it to the Trinity (which I'll be on all next week with my Dad "Sawmill Lake" Joe) this winter, make it up to the Truckee.

This is Eric, locked up on a big bow, which came undone at the end. They all did yesterday, bummer.