The ravine to his right steepened and revealed less light than the ridge he hiked. Fifty feet ahead squatted a burned-out stump that marked the descent point to Black Falls. Matt held the long part of the fly rod out behind him, tip up. If he fell forward with the rod pointing in front of him the tip would splinter into the ground. Then he half sat and scooted down the ravine wall, gear in his fishing vest jingling like a bumped Christmas tree. As he slid down the ravine, his boots furrowed aside layers of pine needles and sandy soil. The shady trunks made excellent places to slow momentum provided he was not going too fast and played the landing just right. Occasionally a red squirrel chittered and tried to drop cones on him. He laughed. Little devious buggers. Ever since the red squirrel incident in Glacier National Park, he’d been in awe of how intelligent they were.

The falls pool gleamed from below, the foamy back eddy swirling in between two hemlocks. Another hundred-foot drop and he’d be on the rocky spit of land that bordered the pool.

When he was younger, he and his father would sometimes swim the pool. The water was clear for most of the year except for spring runoff. Two slick logs stood upright at the base of the falls, rising along the slate face and stopping just short of the lip. They’d been this way for as long as he could remember. The water surging off the lip ran diagonal between two gouged channels of slate. Glistening rock walls sloped into the pool on three sides and were layered with pine needles and moss, which predominated closer to the water. A steep and suspect trail wound its way up the left side of the falls and upriver. In order to get to this questionable trail a hiker had to balance on a section of exposed slate fins bordering a sheer rock wall. The protrusions looked like a submerged stegosaurus. He’d tried it without much luck several years back—he had to of been twelve, maybe thirteen. Getting in and out of the Black River Canyon was not easy. In order to be here, you had to want to be here.

Grateful to be on flat land again, he took a seat on a dried cedar log at the high water mark. He opened his backpack, took a swig of soda, and surveyed the water for rising fish.

Nothing.