The flash of orange and yellow aspen are the tell tale sign that Father Winter is clawing his way south for the season and that icy grip is only a few sunsets away. Dwindling days crank up the urgency levels for the outdoorsman and quarry alike, be it the bugling elk or rising trout. The breathing collective buckles down to make the last bundles of hay while the sun is shining. For my first time, fall in the White mountains was like nothing I’ve ever experienced. If you let the changing shades of the diverse topography control your gaze, you will no doubt be surprised by a thunder bound sucker punch waiting just over the ridge. This shoulder will throw every season your direction, and in 15 minutes it will all change again. Prepare to shiver, and sweat, burn from the sun, and get soaked in the rain.
But don’t let that dissuade.. if Colorado was a cinnamon roll, someone stole the center and plopped it down in this desert state. The fishy icing on top would be the opportunity to hold one of the worlds rarest species of trout.. Folks this is going to be a few days fly fishing Arizona.
