In these moments, my soul was fully home. I have always loved the act of fly fishing, but something about the morning drives with Walker as we anticipated the day ahead chasing new streams, new trails, and new trout seemed to supersede even the fishing itself. The worries and monotony of life were always left at the turn off the highway. They had no place in the serenity of the mountains. Fly fishing was a sacred and spiritual experience for both me and Walker, and we wouldn’t dare stain the clear mountain water with the mire of the outside world. Once we left the highway and felt gravel
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