Just emerged from the cold waters that define Pisgah.  The trout smile from the bottom of the pool; their fat bellies shine like sunlit tinfoil from the seeming abyss.  Tromped around in search of the Cherokee’s slant-eyed Judaculla and assumed an expertise in dendrology, even ornithology.  We grilled ribeyes, squash, onions, red bellpeppers and smothered it all under homemade pico de gallo.  Late in the afternoon, once the food settled into the slow swing of a hammock, the gnats eased enough to allow us an enjoyable (rather large) beer and lazy firewood find.  Slept heavy and dreamless beside the gurgled truths of the creek.


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