I arrived at the Crossroads shortly before 9:30 a.m.—a half-hour early, with plenty of time to add ice to my cooler and gas to my tank. I had driven all morning under an overcast sky, but now the clouds were gone, and the temperature was rising toward ninety. Although catching a trout on an afternoon like this in a shallow spring-fed pond would be close to impossible, I knew crazier things could happen. I, for example, was escorting John Gierach to John Voelker’s famed Frenchman's Pond.
We said we were going fishing and we did
by Tim Schulz - Thursday, Oct 10th, 2024