The only other resident I saw was the otter who lives in a crack in the cliff face on the opposite bank. A big male, he grows fat on the Canyon's abundant crayfish.

The post-pile lava spires rose hundreds of feet above his head. A small group of mule deer grazed in the meadow near the horses. The geese had moved to the opposite bank near the spring.

The water is lower, the fish a bit hungrier, and the pace more suitable to a five-weight and a box of caddis and stimulators.

As I got older, choir and scripture lost their appeal, but early Sunday mornings with a fly rod continued to call me to more natural sanctuaries. I seek these places with angling as motivation.

Angling four Western states in ten days makes you realize the immense size of opportunity, the personal room for improvement and chance for favorable circumstance.

Photo: Yellowstone National Park

You can fish early (I did), but it just takes more effort on both sides, and your partner can sometimes be less than enthusiastic. By 2 p.m., the storms roll off the Mountains and your back in town for liquid refreshment, hoping for bugs around dark.

So when the early morning, coastal fog lifted to cobalt skies, I was presented with a bounty of rainbows and cutties, and what they lacked in size, they more than made up for with aerial displays of pool-jumping prowess.

Photo: Jay Humphrey