The water rippled as the wind picked up on the pond. I flicked my rod, watching the lure dance above the surface and back into the air — straight into a tree. Henry Hudson, who oversees adventures for Blue Sky and bears no relation to the explorer of the same name, laughed it off and pointed across the shore. “See how the waves are going toward that bank? That’s your spot right there.” I trudged in my waders through the last dregs of snowpack and cast. Nothing. Stick. Nothing. Cattail. Nothing. Nothing. Then resistance, a brief tug-of-war, and finally: a trout, iridescent and speckled, flopping in the net. I was elated. I sent my husband a photo — me dopey and grinning like a golden retriever, my fish slack-jawed and muscling against my grip, Henry Hudson smiling encouragingly over my shoulder — along with a message: “We have to move to Utah.”
Read More
