I found pleasure and solitude in the "unimproved" wilderness of Zone 4 over the weekend. I much prefer the scenery down there. Where stick-fire shore lunches, unleashed fishing hounds, and other things related to a "normal" day astream are allowed. No hatchery exhaust pipes, and certainly no concrete...
And the fish are a tad prettier.
Halfway into a good drift, as the sun creeped low into the trees I heard the faint cry of a siren in the distance, and listened as it echoed softly down the valley. As I gently shook the barb free of another sporty fish and watched it disappear back into the broken water of the riffle I suffered a short moment of sadness for the poor confined souls much further upstream.
Such a rude method of forcing a fishermans last cast I can not tolerate.