Not surprisingly the best laid plans go awry. We had originally planned to
hike up stream a good distance and make camp, fish, return to camp to sleep,
awake and break camp and move to another campin' site. But NOOOOOOOO! Mr.
Miller decide that idea isn't feasible. He's afraid that we'll have
difficulty gettin' out with all our gear via the Falls. Thank goodness, Mr.
Miller called the shots!

We woke up Sat. morn to beautiful clear skies and fresh percolated coffee.
We geared up, packed some water and candy bars, and off we went. It was
decided, once again by Mr. Miller, that we should hike upstream, literally,
to the point he had stopped fishin' the day before. We call this location
"Miller's Pool," in honor of the fact that Mr. Miller said it was his pool.
Worked for me. I was given the honor of first cast. I had my trusty
traditional Adams on. Jeff said this pool held at least 5 trout. I missed
two of the first three to attack my fly. I don't recall precisely, but I
believe I caught another one or two and missed as many more. So we were up
to at least 7 or 8 fish in this pool and then Jeff took over. He proceeded
to catch fish one after another. We figured that we would nymph the pool on
our way back as things seemed to be really hot fishin' wise and we needed to
move on, if we were gonna get to the really big waters.

We hadn't gone far when we came upon what look all the world to be a prison
labor force, except everyone of the crew was wearin' a sidearm and totin'
rocks around? We stopped and talk with a few of the U.S. Forestry Service
Rivers and Streams Management Corp. Apparently, they were assigned to Upper
Cr_ek's Restoration and Rehabilitation Project. Essentially, they were
taking rocks and boulders from the boulder fields, created by the floods of
2004, and were replacing them into the stream in an orderly fashion. We
asked them why they hadn't started their project further down stream, where
the trail intersected the stream? They said that they had been given
"specific coordinates and other crews would be workin' to level the bottom
of the stream in other areas. Jeff and I left them--scatchin' our heads? I
most say though, that the wadin' was made much easier where they had been.

An estimation on my part: 3 hours later and a mile or so upstream.

We hadn't caught a single ****in' fish since "Miller's Pool." However, I
was able to entertain Jeff with a very special partial Reid. I was trying
to figure out away over a large boulder and up to the next pool. I stepped
on what I thought was rock, but it turned out to be a deep hole. I went
down backwards up against a big and very hard boulder. Pain and COLD
ensued! I had not fully submersed, but it was sufficient enough for me. We
carried on with a stiff upper lip for a while longer. Eventually, things
seemed hopeless, as not only had we not caught a fish in hours, we hadn't
had any strikes either. The fish had just turned off?

We made our way back to camp, which took less time than it would have,
thanks to Jeff's sharp eye for trails. I proceeded to clean my water logged
sidearm which was rendered inoperative in my attempt for maximum Reid
points, and then rendered even more inoperative, when I lost a very tiny
spring while attempting to repair the damages done by the fall. Jeff, after
watchin' me attempt to disassemble parts several times, rightly decided that
there were still fish to be caught.

The rest of the evening was uneventful, except that we ate and talked around
the campfire.

Sunday morn, I arose to someone cryin' for coffee. Coffee made, we broke
camp and made our way toward the dreaded death march ahead of us. We
figured that it took us about an hour and a half to hike out, even after the
numerous breaks I took that slowed Jeff's progress. I got home and decided
to weight my pack, just to get an idea of how much I could carry and how
much I needed to reduce it next outing. To my astonishment, the pack
weighed 75lbs.!

Op