Who Knows Where The Time Goes.

 Spent until 3:00 in the afternoon working on the camp closedown. I perhaps do things differently than most. My closedown includes a thorough  cleaning of the entire camp. When I come back in the spring everything is ready to go, with the place shut up and snow on the ground there isn't even any dust. 

The fly tying room takes the longest as seemingly nothing gets put away until the very end. Today putting away the fly-tying equipment filled me with a melancholy feeling that was hard to shake. Above the tying bench are pictures of two long departed fly-tyers and friends. This year I stopped to see a river friend, whose camp is on the UEB, just to say hello, only to learn that he had suffered a serious stroke almost a year ago. I had no clue, found the camp deserted and unused. Looked in the window and saw his fly-tying bench with the usual disarray of necks, feathers, dubbing, bobbins, and hooks. You just never know when your last fly has been tied. 

With the wind raining down leaves all day I was in no hurry to go fishing. Left a little after three and wasn't smart enough to return to camp until almost 5:00. Drove around, without success, trying to find a quiet pool with rising fish. The wind did die down after my return and I was able to blow the leaves off the place where I park the car. 

The two does and their three fawns showed up just before dark, turned up their noses at the remaining apples, (mostly rotten), and spent time eating grass. Looked out the window just now, ( it's 7:58), and there was a nice 7 point buck staring back at me.