A Return to Wyoming

This past summer I returned to Wyoming. I've finally gotten around to typing a word or two about it.

Dang I'd missed Wyoming. An escape from the claustrophobia of the east. The peace of mind that comes with open landscape. The absence of traffic and concrete and sprawling strip malls of suburbia. The sheer amount of public hunting and fishing opportunities that simply don't exist in the east. The ease of driving down a dusty dirt road, the crunch of the rock and gravel. Hopping out of the car, waders, rod, reel, and flies all ready to rock and roll. The trout, oh how I'd missed them, not too far, a short walk through the sagebrush, down in that clear water, ready to subtly eat a sunken nymph.

Or, better yet, ready to smash a chubby on the surface. With such ferocity, sometimes it would even scare you.

There's the peace, the freedom of camping. You're in the here and now. No cell service. Just coffee percolating on a cool morning.

And breakfast tacos, of course.

Images of hopper-takes on a southern Wyoming creek will forever be etched in my brain.

It's hard to beat this place, it truly is. Good times meeting up with great friends. And trout more than willing to eat a fake bug.

I don't think I could ever leave my home state behind... but sometimes, sometimes it's tempting...

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The Tar Heel Outdoorsman

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