There are rules to the road and I was obviously ready and willing to learn. I jumped in the car, hours late and having just packed, and was completely discombobulated. But what mattered most was to be in the car, heading north, heading west, heading south, heading east. I was reeling for the Queets River, some 40 miles south of Forks, Washington. But like I said I was late, and my compatriot who was going to “introduce” me to the steelhead country up the Lower Queets Valley was missing. For three days and three nights we planned a serious backcountry fly-fishing expedition for the lustrous sea-run trout. But he bailed (that’s right MC… play is far superior than work!) So I was on my own, without a guide, without any idea where I was headed except
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