Smallie camp

I arrived at the spot in the dark. But it was a place I knew well, an old friend really, and I was comfortable sitting up camp by the light of a headlamp. There was a huge old sycamore log lying parallel to the river. This was the third year it had stayed in place and was not washed away over the winter. I peered over the log and sure enough they were still there, two poles about an inch in diameter and seven feet long I'd cut on a previous trip. A good omen. I unfolded my tarp and spread one end over the log tying it to the trunks of trees behind the log. In the grommets one the other side I jammed the ends of the poles which had been whittled to fit. A couple strings running out from these down to ground in front and tied off to some bushes and a nice lean-to was up in just a couple minutes.
 Back down to the rock bar and a few more minutes had a couple armloads of driftwood gathered for a fire. Some dry twigs piled up with a few cotton balls smeared with vaseline and shredded for a fire starter had a nice little fire going in no time. Not too big a fire because I love to stare at the night sky. Tonight a front was coming in so clumps of dark clouds flew over a starry background. Out here away from the lights of town stars shine in numbers you would never even imagine exist unless you've been to a place like this. I'm reminded of a quote I heard once where stargazing is akin to looking in the rearview mirror of your car. You are looking back into the past, seeing the stars as they once were 500 or 1000 years ago when the light we see now left them.
Soon enough though clouds thickened and real darkness settled in. Every now and again splatters of raindrops hit the tarp through the night but never actually enough you could could it a rain.
With the sodden skies dawn never actually broke but instead things lightened by degrees. At one point you could say yeah it's daylight now but you couldn't really say when it had happened.
This was the reason I'd made the trip here. Often the first hour of day in midsummer is worth the other twenty three hours put together. At least when it comes to larger than average sized fish.
Sure enough today was similar, the best fish were all early and size and numbers declined as the morning wore on. At first light the best spot was up in the corners of the eddies that form below riffles. Right in the farthest upstream corner where the slack water meets fast water. A bit later in the morning the deepest part of the run below the riffle was the ticket. First thing in the morning I'd tied on a four inch clear with gold glitter grub Vic had given me and the fish bit well enough that I never saw the need to change.
Sometime mid morning I'd caught enough fish that I'd lost track of how many I'd caught and the skies were really threatening to open up so I packed it in. Sometimes you need a trip like this out by yourself, alone with the river to recharge...