I rested my river-chilled feet on the warm rocks of the small campfire, an iced gin-and-tonic spritzer in hand, helping me push the season as quickly as I could. The desert, lush and alive this time of year, cascaded my little camp with a chorus of wild tunes ranging from the shrill aria of the mud swallows to the cacophony of hoots, grunts and whistles from the waterfowl padding through the shallow waters just a few dozen feet away.
Wilderness carp
by Chris Hunt - Thursday, May 26th, 2016