Fly fishing on the Provo River

B. is completely "hooked" on fly fishing now. He has actually caught a couple of fish, and is raring to go fishing every chance he gets.

I'm up for it too...

So last Sunday we drove 30 minutes from our house to the Provo River.
I am still in amazement that we live so close to so many beautiful places!

Just before we headed out B. got clobbered by doors that were stacked against the wall in the garage falling down. I thought he would decide against the trip...I was wrong. The deep scrape and bruises were dabbed with an anti-bacterial medication, he popped a pain med, and then jumped into the car.

There are now a few bloody smears on the front seat of my new car.
That makes my car look tougher. More like an outdoor woman's car.
Yeah. I like that...

It was a great day for fly fishing. Every few yards up and down the river there were anglers wading in, or casting from the shoreline.

A brisk breeze cooled us against the summery warmth, and an occasional rain drop or two escaped the heavy clouds overhead.

Perfect weather, in my opinion.

Overhead swallows were swooping about. I counted over thirty at one point.
(If you enlarge the previous pictures, you will see swallows in those pictures too.)



Below, clouds of grasshoppers flittered ahead of our every step. At first I thought they were butterflies, as their wings were broad and fluttery.

Not a really "buttery" kind of day, but I did manage to photograph a skipper.

This one was sipping nectar from a clover blossom. Did I mention the air was filled with clover scent? Pink, red and white clover bloomed around the edge of the river.

Not a lot of flowers though. I thought this looked like wild mustard, but it wasn't.

I took my turn at angling.

I did get a bite, and a fight before I lost the fish. Yes Dad, I did remember to set the hook before I played it in. It was a pretty tiny hook, and we were seeing pretty big fish being lifted out by others around us.

I turned the rod back to over to B. and went exploring. The side stream lets were making such a lovely babbling sound.

(His waders arrived a few days after this trip. Here he was wading in the icy water bare-legged, claiming it made his scraped and bruised leg feel much, much better....)

Seriously...isn't this restful beauty?

The rock stacking trend up north got a try down here at one point as I sat by the river. I decided my stack should look like a be-hatted woman. Or maybe a hippo. Hat, head and torso, with leaves serving as feather trim.

Back to wandering around.

An equestrian clicked by on her spotted pony. It seemed a natural part of the scenery.

Every few moments the light changed on the surrounding hills as the clouds hid and re-revealed the sun.

There is a scientific name for this effect of streaked light. Maybe I'll remember to look it up later. As a child I always thought of such light as God and Angels peeking down.

Instead of flowers, there was an abundance of interesting grasses to photograph.

(Oh gee, now I guess I will also need to get a grass identification book....)

Somehow even this prickly set of buds looked lovely to me. Are they cockle burrs, or a form of thistle? There were quite a few amethyst thistles in bloom, and thistle weed fluff floating about as well.

The distant bridge over the river carries car traffic. We really are not that far from civilization at all.

It was getting late...B. casted just a few more times before we headed back to our car.

Next to our car was a lovely field of billowing grasses, in early fall tones that made me want to take some time to paint. I find the click of my camera is letting me "hold that thought" nicely against time constraints. Someday I will have so many images to chose from should I decide to wield my paintbrushes again.

Well, we once again left the stream without any fish in the creel. We did see a couple of fish caught by others. Fly fishing is an art form, and requires much study to learn to correctly read the current insect hatch, how to cast each kind of fly, and how to read the river.

If I was really hungry for food, I probably wouldn't be fly fishing. I probably be wetting a line and cheese ball covered hook for bait.

Speaking of cheese....

Cheeto!

(We stopped by and visited him right after fishing. He now weighs three pounds. Most of that weight is fluff and purr. Can't get enough of my grandkitty!)