It is the first day of summer and I spent the afternoon wondering how long until snowflakes would fall and bury the terrain under my feet. I loved the wildflowers that dotted hills I skied a few months prior, but I found my brain wandering to a cold chairlift ride, a dash through the trees, and a powder-filled ride down a back bowl. I realized as I passed dormant chairlifts and hillsides of lupine that hiking on ski resort slopes in summer is not a healthy way to get past ski withdrawal symptoms.
The way to manage the ski addiction, at least for me, is to stick with fishing the streams that flow past the ski hills. Before the aborted hike on the hill this afternoon, I’d spent my morning knee deep in Gore Creek. The pursuit of trout in a stream that was fed by the snow I’d skied was delightful, albeit not fruitful. Mountain water is where I need to be in the summer.
Winter will come. Until then, I’ll be fishing.