trout lake,

6

Fly fishing the Upper Owens River in the winter is fantastic.  It is stunningly beautiful.  Peaceful.  Quiet except for the occasional piercing sound of a hawk.  Clear and very cold this day.  Not another person to be seen.  The fishing went off. 

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Shore of Seneca Lake, largest of the Finger Lakes, New York.

…and the trout rising on the lake at night and phosphorescent bubbles from the wake of the little yacht and the sickle moon breaking up into several moons. And walking over the fells to come to the Bridge Inn that Sunday, and ineffable melancholy mixed with joy, rare as hot sun on an April day, rarer than radium, missing you, but also knowing you were somewhere (in Glastonbury) thinking of me. And drinking the good Thwaites draught ale at the Masons, and the hut by the lake.
—  Aidan Higgins, The Bird I Fancied