Wyoming Warrior Back to Divide

Our next day was the last for fishing. Shane asked us which lake we wanted to fish. Paul mentioned a lake with Golden Trout that he had read about. Shane said it was at least a five hour ride and that didn’t allow time for much fishing. We had so much success at Divide Lake we elected to return for a second day.

While we were preparing to the leave, a mule train passed by up on the Loop Trail. The trail was upslope from our campsite, but we could see the mule train clearly. Each mule had bright red and green saddle blankets in addition to the paneers. Shane said the mule train was part of the US Forestry Division. They were traveling to Yellowstone to do repairs to the trails and bridges. He said the government provided at the supplies and materials and the work was done by volunteers.

The trip back up to the continental divide went smoothly. This was in large part due to me riding my other horse and leaving Warrior to graze. As we rode up, Shane had us stop the horses in a small spring that emerged from the mountain.

The water was clear, and Shane said we could drink from the spring. Don and I declined, but Paul jumped down and took a drink. Shane then advised him that most people preferred to drink upstream from the horses.

While he was dismounted, Paul noticed a bird carcass lying next to the spring. The carcass was some type of hawk and had obviously been a recent kill. We speculated that it might had been killed when it landed for a drink. Paul pulled several feathers from the carcass. Don and I each put a feather in our hatbands. I still have mine though it has been over ten years.

It was somewhat cooler when we arrived at Divide Lake, but the fishing was just as productive. The cutthroat is strikingly beautiful. The rainbow colored scales shine in the clear air. They fight fiercely when hooked. They were once again huge.

Temperatures were dropping as we rode back to camp. Joe (thanks for correction DM) was back in camp when we arrived. We had many questions about doing this type of work. Joe was originally from Minnesota and had been attracted by the mountains. He planned to set up a taxidermy business in Dubois in the near future. Joe said his dog was a Red Healer also known as Australian Cattle Dog and he was good with herding the horses.

Shane was a college student. He had worked in the oil fields, but enjoyed working with the horses in the mountains. Our husband and wife team had worked in different camps and different countries. All of these stories were a perfect way to spend our last night around the campfire.

Wyoming Warrior On the Continental Divide

We returned to camp from Joy Lake. That night we had a visitor to camp. His name was Joe (thanks for correction DM), and he rode in after dark. Joe was part of John Henry’s crew and he was leading one of John Henry’s horses. He also had a dog with him. The horse had thrown a shoe and was unable to carry anyone. John Henry was hunting elk up in the mountains.

Joe jumped off his horse and tied him to the line. He met the cook in the mess tent and bagged up some sandwiches and coffee. He took another horse from the group in camp, and headed back up the mountain IN THE DARK!!! Did I mention how dark it gets in the wilderness? Amazed I asked Shane about this. He said the horse knew the way.

Day three and guess who was waiting for me on the line? Warrior was rested, but not much interested in being ridden. He let me know his opinion as soon as I mounted. We had several trips around the tie up area before he agreed to follow directions.

Our ride to Divide Lake was to begin along the river. We crossed over the river and followed a path along it. Shane was again in the lead. As we followed along he suddenly stopped. He had us come up and showed us a fresh grizzly bear track. He said the bear had just been there, and asked if we could smell it.

 We could smell a musky odor. Shane showed us the .45 pistol he was carrying. He said it was likely the bear would stay away and the gun was the scare him. He said we should yell if we saw him as that could keep him away. We all started scanning every bush and rock.

The trail moved into a wooded area. This area was quite different from the woods we had left. The trees were mostly burned out trunks of pine trees. There were many standing pines that were dead, but not burned. Shane explained there had been a wildfire that swept through this side of the valley a few years before (1988). The firefighters had contained it to this side of the river and had stopped the fire before it burned deeply into Yellowstone, which began just up the river from our camp site.

The standing dead trees were killed by the invasive pine bore.  The insect was destroying the pines in the west, and providing much more fuel for future wildfires.

As we reached the mountain where the lake was located we started up the switch back horse trails. The trail again was only as wide as the horses’ hooves. Adding to the adventure were the loose rocks which formed the face of the mountain. Shane said the horses would handle the climb. As we continued to climb, I saw the horses slip on a rocks, but they never faltered.

I decided giving Warrior his head would be better than trying to direct him on the slippery trail. This worked well until Warrior decided he didn’t want to follow the group. About half way up the first slope, I was higher than the rest of the group. Shane’s comment was “Rick, where are you going?” My response was, “I thought Warrior knew the way”

Getting Warrior to head back down with the group was another challenge. Turning him while fearing he would slip and fall was quite frightening. A short while after we caught up the group, we came to the first break in the slope.

This break was a wide meadow, probably ten acres. A meadow on the side of a mountain fascinated me.  My mental images of mountains as stark barren places was in total conflict with what existed in front of me. I had no idea that mountains could contain such beautiful grassy areas way above the valley. There was plenty of plant life on which to graze. At that moment, I understood how so much wildlife could exist in the mountains.

We crossed the meadow and continued to another slope.  This was the final ascent. I like that phrase. It sounds like we were reaching the peak of Everest. What we actually reached was the top of the western continental divide. For those who don’t remember, or were never taught, geography, all precipitation on the western side of this mountain flowed toward the Pacific Ocean. All precipitation on the side from which we came flowed eventually to the Gulf of Mexico via the Missouri and Mississippi Rivers.

The view from the top was amazingly cool. To our left, south, were the twin peaks of the Grand Tetons. Two our right, north, were the mountains and valleys that form the southern entrance to Yellowstone National Park.

About one hundred feet below sat Divide Lake. Approximately five acres in size, it was surrounded by rock and the entire shore was unobstructed. Like Joy Peak Lake, it was totally clear. There was no visible creek inflow or drainage. It sat at ten thousand feet with no way for water to enter except by melting snow.

As we got to the lake shore, we dismounted and tied our horses to some nearby trees. We could see the trout swimming and quickly got out our rods.

As soon as my trusty rooster tail spinner hit the water I had a monster trout. He fought long and hard, but I landed him. I put the tape measure on him. He was over twenty three inches. A beautiful cutthroat.  The next cast I caught a brown trout. The colors were even more brilliant.

For the next hour we fished and continued to land huge fish. We were again releasing them as we had not planned for returning with them. Each of us worked about half of the lake before we broke for lunch.

We tried different lures and flies. Every fly or lure caught fish. I began to wonder if this lake had ever been fished before. Certainly it wasn’t over fished.

After our requisite three hours of fishing, Shane had us mount up for the return to camp. After we passed over the top of the divide, he took us down a different path. We stayed high on the slope, but the area was wide. We could see across to other slopes and meadows.

As were moving we heard the call of a bull elk. The sound is like a echoing siren and carries through the slopes. Shane took out binoculars and spotted the bull. He was quite a long distance from our location, but clearly visible on the slope. Shane said he was calling to his heard of cows below him. He said they were easily spooked and one had to stay very secluded to approach them while hunting.

Shane took us to a flat overlook of the river valley below and Joy Peak in the distance. From this vantage he offered to take out picture. This is a photo that is special to me. Paul, Don, and I mounted on our horses with a wide river valley and mountains behind and below. Warrior even behaved for the photo shoot.

Wyoming Warrior Joy Peak Lake

The next day was planned for an early morning departure. We were to ride for three hours up to the top of the mountain by the camp. The plan was to ride for three hours, fish for three hours split by lunch, then ride three hours back before dark. Any delays put us on mountain trails in the dark. Think about that for a second.

That morning, we awoke to an extremely cold tent. Paul started our stove the night before. It was difficult to start and by morning it was out.  Don had struggled getting his started as well. We dressed quickly and gathered at the mess tent.

Our breakfast was cold cereal. We each were given a paper lunch bag and told to fill them for lunch. Our lunch was a peanut butter sandwich, a snack bar, and an apple. So much for a cowboy breakfast and chuck wagon food. We were told we could bring back fish if we wanted, but we declined.

We all were given new horses to ride. The horses were saddled and tied on a rope line in the camp. My light brown steed was an absolute pleasure to ride. He responded to my movement of the reins and never looked back. We crossed behind the camp, and started out.  Our campsite was at the base of the mountain we were to climb. The trail was wooded and vertical.

It seemed we were traveling up at all time. This was so different that the trip out. Shane had loaded all of our fishing gear on our horses, and they were struggling with our weight and the boot waders. They kept going, following Shane’s lead.

When your horse is struggling, you are too. Trying to ride leaning forward and holding tight makes for an exhausting ride.

After a short rest we continued to the top and broke out of the trees. The site at the top rewarded all of the effort.

The Joy Lake was about two acres and azure blue. It was so clear, you see the fish swimming. At the back of the lake sat an outcropping of rock that formed the top of the mountain. Joy Peak is over 10,000 ft high. It was the type of view you see at photo exhibits.

 We took another brief break. Don and Paul unloaded their fly rods and put on boot waders. I elected to not wade.

I had my trusty spinning rod. While they took time to tie on flies, I started casting my rooster tail spinner from shore. I had a fish at once. A huge trout, the biggest I had ever seen.

The mountain trout are cutthroats. They are similar to rainbow trout, except they have a red band on their lower neck, as if bleeding. This fish was at least fourteen inches.

The lake had few places to bank fish as it was surrounded by downed wood. Fly fishing requires much room to cast. Paul waded out when he started to fish. He found the bottom was not solid. He sank in the muck and lost his balance. As he fell forward, he caught himself on a branch, but not before the top of his waders went below the surface. Coors ads talk about pure cold mountain water; Paul was introduced to it in his crotch.

We helped Paul up and out of his waders. He dumped out the water and stripped off most of his wet clothes. The day was cool but clear and the sun was warm. Paul laid out most of his clothes to dry on tree branches.

I worked around finding a few places to reach the water. It seemed every cast caught another cutthroat. Don and Paul also caught fish with their fly outfits. 

Shane stood by and watched all of this circus. He helped with Paul’s wet clothes, but basically he had to sit with nothing to do. When we finally stopped for lunch, he asked if he could use my rod. I said fine. He caught a trout on the first cast. 

After lunch Don and Paul both switched to spinning rods. Never one to brag, I did manage to get a few digs at the “elegance” of fly fishing. It certainly looked elegant when Paul fell in.

After another hour of fishing, we rode down the mountain through the woods. The shade was quite cool and we were cold by the time we reached camp. Tomorrow was to be to a different lake, on the continental divide.

Wyoming Warrior " Ride In"

We left before sunrise for the 40+mile drive to the staging corrals. Along the way we passed by mountains with big horn sheep standing on them. I still cannot comprehend how they climbed the sheer rocks that they made their homes.

We were also treated to groves of aspen trees and many standing pines. The mountains dropped off into the river bottom in which we drove. The meadows were used for grazing and we saw several ranches along the road.

Fortunately Paul actually followed Shane’s directions and we located the corrals. They were near the Wind River. These corrals were jointly used by many outfitters for staging for their trips. There were many horses and groups preparing for a ride. Shane was already preparing the animals.

Our gear was laid out on a canvas tarp. We watched as Shane weighed and balanced the paneers with our extensive gear. He told us it was essential that each load be perfectly balanced to keep the horses and mules from falling off the mountain trail. My fear of heights was not quelled with this conversation.

Shane was to lead a pack mule, and each of us was to have two horses to ride. The trip was so strenuous that a horse had to rest for a day before being ridden again. Shane assigned us our first horse. Mine was a big dark chocolate brown male with a blaze on his face. His name was “Warrior”. I was to find he was aptly named.

Shane was in the lead trailing the mule and horses. Don and Paul followed, with me in the rear. Shane had said the horses know to follow each other, so I wasn’t worried about controlling my horse’s direction. Many groups were leaving so we had to wait our turn as many were headed in the same direction into the wilderness.

We left the meadow of the corrals through a small gate. As we left the gate, we started up. We were on the Loop Trail which traversed the Bridger Wilderness Area and led into Yellowstone. The trail was only as wide as the horses’ hooves. To understand this, put your two feet side by side. That is how wide the “trail” was on the mountain. It circled to the right as it rose up. To the right of the trail was a drop off to the river below. We were quickly a hundred feet above the stream. I remember thinking “Holy shit! If I lean right I’ll die. Steady, Warrior, I am only going to look ahead” I held the reins tightly.

Warrior held steady slowly following the other horses. Warrior decided that slowly was a good pace. We gradually fell a length behind the rest of the group. That stretched to two lengths. By the time we were an hour out, the group behind us began to catch-up. Shane told me to get up with the group. Unfortunately Warrior disagreed with this direction.

After kicking Warrior several times, he began to move, slowly. He kept turning his head as if to say knock it off or else. The group behind finally caught us and had to stop. I kicked Warrior a few more times as my group stopped to wait for us.  Warrior shook his head in disagreement, but we did finally close the distance. Finally Shane let the following group pass us. As we continued on, I would continue to have to push Warrior. I did not realize this would be a problem all week.

My image of the western mountains had been formed by TV westerns. To me the west was barren, dry, with bare rock mountains and dusty valleys. Remember The Lone Ranger on Silver? All of the land was steep. In one Black Stallion book I had read of pine forests and was surprised that was part of the western mountains. I had flown over the Rockies while in the army and saw only black rock with a dusting of snow.

All of my images were inconsistent with what I saw on this trip. The mountains stood above us for most of the trip. They were grey rock above and forests below. They were steep, but not completely vertical. The biggest surprise was the stream valley meadows with grass and sage.

Most of the trip followed a meadow along the North Fork of the Buffalo River which flowed toward the Wind River. This was much more relaxing ride. We took a break about half way and dismounted. (Technically we mostly fell off the horses.) After remounting and riding through the sage (it is actually golden that time of the year) for a few more hours, we started moving into a slightly elevated area.

The campsite was near the North Fork of the Buffalo River in a wooded area. We reached the site in the afternoon. It was also the base of Joy Peak. Shane said there was preparation work we needed to do when we arrived. The campsite had recently been set up. 

Paul was pleased to see we had wall tents. These were set for elk hunters, not fishermen. Fishermen camped in smaller tents set for summer use. Wall tents had heater stoves in them. Elk season was beginning and we were to be the last group in for fishing.

The camp crew included a husband and wife team of a cook and a camp worker in addition to Shane. Shane hooked hobbles to our horses’ legs and led them out of camp. The hobbles would not prevent the horses from moving, but they would not be able to run. Shane took them to a nearby meadow and returned.

We were given a quick camp tour, including the location of the shit teepee. A very small one at that.  Paul and I shared a tent and Don was alone. Each tent was given a small amount a sawdust soaked with kerosene. We were to manage our own heat stove. After stowing our equipment in our tents, we helped stack firewood. No power equipment was allowed in wilderness area. All firewood had to be cut by axe and saw. Fortunately a good stack of firewood was already cut, although the logs were about six feet long.

We were given water jugs and told to fill them by a spring near the river. We were told the water was safe to drink. We were also given what looked like a fire extinguisher. This was bear spray and was to be used if a Grizzly Bear approached us.  As the three of us walked to the river, Paul revealed he had also brought a .45 pistol from home, just in case we encountered a bear. Did I mention that these things were not included while describing all the fun we were to have on this trip?

When we returned a fire was going and food was being prepared. Bread was made in a Dutch over set down in the fire. Steaks were cooked over the flames. It was perfect meal after a hard day’s ride. We sat by the fire and listened to the crew stories about places they had worked.

The daytime scenery was different in every direction. Then came the dark of a clear night.  A completely strange world appeared to replace the clear sky of the day. I witnessed the most spectacular view of the heavens. The sky in the wilderness is unobstructed by ambient light.  In all the years living on a farm in the country, I never saw such a display. The stars are more numerous than one can imagine. The Milk Way spread across the like a band of fog among the blaze of pin points. All of this exists unseen, except in the wilderness.  I understood why ancient people created stories about the stars and planets. Something that beautiful needed to be explained.

Wyoming Warrior " preparation"

 Wyoming Warrior

The summer of 2004 was the beginning of the longest fishing trip ever attempted by Don, Paul, and me. It started with Paul “Hey guys, I know this outfitter in Wyoming…” His name was John Henry (not the steel drivin’ man).

Originally all four of us planned to go. Paul said the trip would involve a five hour horseback ride into the “wilderness”, and a five day stay at a campsite. The Bridger Wilderness was between Yellowstone and the Grand Tetons. Horses and mules were the only form of transportation in or out. We would also be riding from camp to the various mountain fishing lakes. The outfitter suggested we “practice” horseback riding in the summer to be prepared for a September trip.

I had not ridden a horse since I was a kid.  Our cousins in Lanark kept horses and we loved to go there and ride. This was done for a few days once a year. Before that we actually owned a gentle saddle broken steed. He was a donkey creatively named “Donk”, and he had stepped on me once when I was four. I had failed to pull the cinch strap tight enough and slipped out of the saddle under him. I was unhurt, as he gently placed his hoof in the middle on my chest, but I milked it for all the sympathy I could gather.

After the first practice trip at Dawson Lake, we discovered why this was recommended. We were so stiff from a one hour ride, we basically fell off the horses when we returned to the corral. We had to decide that week if we were going to commit to go by paying a big deposit to the outfitter. After the first practice, Robert decided that hiking in Colorado would be more enjoyable.

The next day the pain was unforgiving. Paul said John Henry suggested adding padding when we rode. I didn’t own any padded clothes at that time, but quickly decided the recommended bike shorts were needed.  The second practice trip was better, but we were still sore. I couldn’t imagine doing this for five hours. I also decided to follow the recommendation to wear long underwear for added padding.

Then nature intervened. That summer would see four hurricanes strike the state of Florida. Charlie, the third one that struck in August, tore huge holes in my parents’ home on Pine Island. The area of destruction was extensive, and there simply were not enough workers or supplies to do all the needed repairs. In addition the fourth hurricane, Frances, was slowly approaching the US.

Our family rallied to help Mom and Al. Steve gave a trailer, Al bought shingles, two volunteered to drive and all of us that were available flew to Ft. Meyers to help with the repairs. After an exhausting week in 95 degree heat and humidity, their house was repaired and we headed home. Frances’ arrival closed all the airports and gas stations south of us and many along the way. We made it out just in time.

This Florida adventure limited me to two practice rides. I got home on a Friday. We were to leave on Monday for the two day drive to Wyoming. Connie volunteered to let us use her new Honda CRV.

One cannot imagine all the gear (crap) that three guys need for a week of fishing. Rather than describe it all, understand that there was only a small space in the back seat for one person. The car was filled to the ceiling. We decided to stay overnight in Sydney, NE, home of Cabelas.

I should mention Sydney is on the far western side of Nebraska, the longest, most boring, sleep inducing state in the nation. We traveled on Interstate 80 and crossed the path of the first transcontinental highway (US Route 30 known as the Lincoln Highway).

The stop in Sydney allowed us to buy more gear, including my first adult cowboy hat and a bargain pair of Gore-Tex boots.

The trip was an adventure for me as I had never traveled west. We drove for another full day after leaving Sydney.  We passed by pronghorn antelope running in meadows along the roadway. We saw ranchers baling the grass in the highway median, and many Oregon Trail landmarks.  One stop at a visitors’ center was near the Ice Slough, which contained ice preserved from the summer heat under a marsh. We followed the path of the transcontinental railroad. The trip was uneventful except for Don’s continued attempts to pull on the parking brake when he was driving.

We traveled into the Wind River Range and reached DuBois, WY in the late afternoon. We were to leave from the staging corral early in the morning. We drove out to John Henry’s home and paid him the balance of the cost of the trip. That evening we met Shane. Shane was appropriately named. AT 6’4”, 250 lbs, and all shoulders and arms, he was my imagined definition of a true cowboy (as in the movie “Shane don’t go”). He met us to load up all of our gear, so he could get a start on packing the horses and mules before we arrived.

We kept only overnight clothes. We had the last showers we would have for a week. We walked downtown to a local bar and restaurant.

There were a number of young women dressed in western wear. Sitting in a group were about six men dressed in uniform coveralls that resembled flight suits. After a beer, Paul started asking them who they were. They were smokejumpers brought up to work fires in the mountains.  I was fascinated to meet people who risked so much to stop fires. We drank the last beer for a week and walked back to the motel.

The Apple is a Peach

When I was employed, one of my favorite holidays was Columbus Day. When I briefly left education in the late 1970’s, I found I missed kids terribly. When I decided to return to teaching a year later, people at my plant asked me why I was returning to education. I lied and said it was because I didn’t want to work on Columbus Day. It was only partially a lie.

Enjoyment wasn’t based on the commemoration of Columbus. It was the timing of the day. Early October has mostly cool, clear, dry days. These days are perfect for fishing. As educators, we got the day off and that meant fishing trips. 

One day Paul said, “Hey guys, I read they are catching some nice smallmouth bass on the Apple River in northern Illinois. We should go on Columbus Day.” We were all four available and decided this would be our next fishing destination. The Apple flows through Apple River Canyon state park and eventually flows into the Mississippi on the edge of the old Savanna Army Depot.

Paul called the ranger station at the state park and received some fishing advice and directions. This was before GPS so we actually needed a map.

The Apple is a shallow cool water creek. In this area it is shallow enough to wade. The cooler October weather meant we would need waders (high waist boots for you non-fisher people). 

For Don and Paul this was prime water for fly fishing. Robert and I brought our trusty spinning rods and lures we purchased from our Smokys trip.

It was a long four hour drive from Bloomington. We arrived around noon, and stopped to eat our packed lunches. Fortunately Don’s wife, Pat, had prepared many sandwiches. I brought basic staples like Cheetos and snack bars.

After lunch we put on all of our gear and waded into the river near the parking lot in the park. We caught fish quickly, but they were not smallies. The only fish were small minnow like creek chubs called dace. They were about 3 inches long with bumps all over the head. They may have gotten a few more bumps as we pitched them back immediately.

The park has limestone bluffs which line the river. The Apple has three branches in the park and they have an unusual flow pattern. The water from two of the branches enters the main branch, but they flow against the current. I learned later that uplift changed the river’s course and the main branch was at one time a tributary.

In spite of the scenic beauty, the fishing was disappointing. We decided to ask advice at the ranger station. This was a great move as the ranger pointed out other Apple River areas owned by the state. These areas, separated from the main park, were purchased as farm land was put on sale. Some of the land was owned on one side by the state and the other by private owners. The ranger said these sections were fished less often and almost no one fished them in the fall.

Though we are navigationally impaired, we actually managed to locate one of the sections. It was across the road from a Boy Scout camp, and we were able to park there. Unfortunately they were having a big jamboree, and the parking areas were packed. We hoped we didn’t get towed. After putting on all our gear, we waded into the edge of a corn field and mostly stumbled until we found the river. We had to slide on our butts to get in the water, but all managed to get in without falling.

The shallow water was crystal clear and we could easily see fish facing upstream waiting for food to swim by. Don and Paul fished with their tree snagging poles (fly fishing) while Robert and I fished with spinning equipment. The guy in the picture caught the first smallmouth.

We moved upstream as we tried different pools. In most places the river barely covered the bottom of my boots. It was narrow, and  in many spots less than 20 feet across.

This section of the river has many bluffs. Next to the bluffs, the river is much deeper, sometimes over 5 feet. As we were fishing a deep pool, something hit the water next to Don. It sounded like a cannon when it hit. We thought some kids were up on the bluff throwing rocks at us (Don). We watched the bluffs and waited for them to throw again. They did….it was a squirrel knocking down walnuts from a tree overhanging the bluff.

As we moved upstream, the ranger said to look for a bridge. This was the end of state property and we were not allowed beyond the bridge.  I found out later that my brother-in-law, Gregg, was part of the crew that built this bridge. This was an extremely steep bank to climb and we all had difficulty getting out. I wish he had put in a few steps to the top. Across the bridge lay more scenic bluffs, but there were beef cattle grazing the area and wading in the river. Since they were upstream, the water under the bridge was "unpleasant".

We had a mile walk, in boot waders, back to the car parked at the Boy Scout camp. After the mile long hike in boots against the current and then the hike back we were exhausted. However we caught many smallies along the way and had a wonderful time looking at the scenery and catching fish.

As we loaded into the car, for the long drive home Paul said, “The title will be "The Apple is a Peach’ ”. I asked what that was about. He said he wrote a journal when he went fishing. Each journal entry had a title. I thought the title was a perfect description of our adventure.

We returned many times, often in the summer as you can tell by the change in wardrobe. 

We caught many fish, including some really large river smallies. We explored more of the river. The area near the Boy Scot camp begins at another bridge and it contains several deep pools. We met a nice woman who owns a house on that section that she and her husband purchased for retirement. He had passed away, and she seemed to enjoy talking to us. One time we caught so many smallies in a deep pool near her house, we never waded upstream. We actually ran out of the crawdad lures we were using and couldn’t find any more in the area.

Often it was just Don and I returning, but we always considered the Apple a special place. We extended our trips to two days and included some sightseeing. This area of Illinois is untouched by glaciers and is extremely hilly and scenic. It is home to the highest land in Illinois, known as Charles Mound. The highest town in the state is nearby Scales Mound, a very small village, and home of two brothers who lived next door to me in college. I had uncles who farmed near there, and visiting them was the best part of summers.

Educators now can waive the state of Illinois requirement to dismiss school on holidays. Many districts have chosen to stay in school on Columbus Day. Now, when I fish on Columbus Day all those educators and kids are in school. Seriously, I don’t miss Columbus Day, but I am forever thankful that we made that first trip. The Apple really is a Peach. 

Credit Paul for the title and the photos.