The morning light is filtered and grey and ominous. The kind that reaches out and covers everything, from the tops of the mountains to the bottom of the valleys.

The air is heavy and wet, not quite raining, but nowhere near dry either. It's not that cold out, but the dampness makes it almost unbearable. Layers upon layers are applied. You fill up your travel mug with the hottest coffee you can stand.

You question your sanity.

You spend your day in a creek, no wider than your car, stalking trout no bigger than your forefinger, completely wet.

You begin to really question your sanity.

But then you realize it, that these hours, this coffee and those little trout are the dreams that will get you through the week.

Maybe you're not so crazy after all.