Friday, May 20, 1994

The morning was cold again, but we were up pretty high, so we got early sun and got going early. Jason fished for a while. Don't remember if he caught anything. He wanted a picture of a century plant for his horticulture class. It was in a neat little amphitheater formed by rock cliffs, and was about to bloom. I waited for the sun to be right, while he was fishing. When he was ready to go, it looked like it would be another 30 minutes before the sun would be where I wanted. We didn't want to wait, so I shot a couple of pictures and we hit the trail.

We made the good fishing holes in about an hour or two. We felt fine, as the trail was easy and we'd slept well. Or at least I had. The stream did have some great holes on it. We caught a few nice fish in some big pools, and finally found ourselves at the top of a 30 foot waterfall. We saw why the trail went out of the canyon and back down again. The walls on either side were sheer and it was impossible to get around. There was a huge pool at the bottom of the fall, though, and we could see the trout swimming around in it.

It was like shooting fish in a barrel. It was hardly like trout fishing. Just get your line out above the water and keep it from splashing too hard. I caught a nice 8-inch rainbow on the first cast. We caught a few others and then it slowed down for a while. Jason put on a wet fly of some type and just started to slay them. We sat there fishing and talking, and just soaking in the glory of the waterfall and its rushing sound, and watching an occasional trout come up to take our fly. I guess those are the moments that make things like this worthwhile. The solitude. The quiet. The incomprehensible power. The ruggedness. The Gila put the R in rugged. The big R. We were definitely outsiders. Traveling on a tourist visa issued on the Gila's terms. We conquered nothing on this trip.

The fish stopped biting. Guess we finally caught or spooked them all. Never did catch the big one, of course. He looked to be about 15 inches. But not interested in the morsels we had to offer. So off we went, on yet another climb.

What can I say? Going up it was hot, rocky and steep. Going down it was hotter, rockier, and steeper. Exhausted again by the time we got to Bud's Hole. Jason went fishing. I lay in the pine needles. One more climb, and before we were back down to our first campsite on the West Fork of the Mogollon. At least, that climb was not so bad.

Our first campsite was our last campsite. It was a good site. Thirty feet above the creek. Nice and flat, and as soft as the ground can be. A log to sit on. Only frogs and backpackers can appreciate good sitting logs. I was wondering which I was at that point. I felt like catching a bug with my tongue and jumping in the creek. But the log was too inviting. Besides we had more Cha Cha Chili for dinner.

Jason went upstream, looking for the yet another great fishing hole. I rested. Got another great night's sleep.