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I can hear Jacob in the corner packing his things. I've been getting together our last bit of laundry to clean before we shove it in backpacks. At four am, tomorrow morning, we make our way home.
As always, we never get enough time here and it's always heartbreaking to head home. I guess maybe that means something when you're always sad to go home.
Our final adventure here was to the same place as our first. I think it's safe to say this little creek is so very special, to both of us.
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I've always belived there's a difference between surviving and really, truly living. As with most people, some days, weeks, even months are spent just trying to survive, make it through the day. Then there are those other moments when you're living.
I've tried to build myself a life that isn't just simply waking up every day and getting through, but a life I love. I'm always thankful for this world I live in, but like everyone else, some days it simply comes down to surviving.
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Take an Appalachian angler and stick them in a stream that holds wild brook trout eight inches plus and you will see a person experiencing total and complete bliss.
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Happiness is...
Driving through the mountains listening to Ben Howard.
A cold beer.
The sound of magpie's laughing and playing in the distance.
After driving30 or so hours across the country, stopping at a few “must see” truck stops, surviving a blown air conditioner while driving through Arkansas heat, and dropping off a few rod socks in Albuquerque, we finally made it to Durango, Colorado.
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If I tried to describe some of the places we were able to witness it would simply be an effort in futility. You have to see and feel these places for yourself, let them touch your heart without anyone else's interference.
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