Then again, most fly fishermen fail The Sanity Test at some point ("you mean you let them go?!"), and there’s no denying the beauty of alpine brook trout — or the places you find them.

An alpine brook trout. Bad picture, gorgeous fish.

The view from the trail. (Don’t walk and look at the same time.)

My brother Scott hiking in. Note the similar but less handsome features.

The landscape dwarfs us (which is part of the attraction)

 
Today on Oprah: Wildflowers and the bees who love them.

With my older brother in town, we headed up into the mountains to find what a travel agent might call a Quality Solitary Fly Fishing Experience.

A backpacker (they’re almost as weird as fly fishermen), he’s recently taken up high country fishing and wanted a few hints.

Typically, I caught fish, but had little idea why, and explaining to a novice why brook trout would eat an Adams dry when there weren’t any bugs on the surface isn’t easy (you try it).

The WonderTroutDog.

The biggest brookie was probably 10 inches in length, but clearly, the true length of any fish involves a complex equation, the variables of which include the setting, your mood, the weather, and the amount of effort you put into catching it.

By that measure, our biggest brookie was probably closer to 15 inches, but of course they weren’t — which is why this week will find me fishing the rivers mentioned above for bigger trout.

No trip is complete with the antics of Wally the Wonderdog, who ranged all over the landscape, and once we were on the road home, conked.

Wally the Wonderdog crashes.

Then again, I conked too – a reminder I’ve got more hikes ahead of me before I’m in any kind of backcountry shape.

Just before we left, our somewhat pristine environment was fouled by the arrival of a couple ATVs, one of the drivers of which really, really liked the word "f*ck," being as he used it as a noun, verb, adjective, and yes — a comma.

It was a jarring reminder that civilization still existed outside of our little alpine bubble, for better or worse.

Meanwhile, Back at the Ranch

I’m not going to pass along every rumor and story as if they were the truth, but it’s possible Chris Raine was fishing the Upper Sac and saw his backing while Dave Roberts was fishing the Upper Rogue and apparently saw god.

Others report mixed results; big bugs and fish one night, and nothing the next.

Naturally — with the fly fishing picking up all around me — it’s my cue to come down with a cold, which seems to be making the rounds up here.

Still, I’ll be out there, and I expect more than a few of you will too.

See you on the river, Tom Chandler.