The morning mountain air is cold, and bitter, and it reaches for my breath the second I set foot in it. For what seems like an eternity, a battle ensues—the sub-zero winter air lunging at my body—searching for a way through the layers of neoprene, and down, and wool. But I don’t feel it. I can’t feel anything other than the rod in my hand and overwhelming gratitude and awe as I wade through mounds of fresh snow and a curtain of ethereal mist rising from the river. I feel the warm Colorado sun on my cheeks and the rhythmic water of the Blue River dancing with my legs. I feel the cool line run through my hands and jolts of adrenaline surge through my body with each cast. I feel the quiet of the morning. But not once, not even a little, do a I feel the cold.
Postcards From the Weekend is our weekly photo series showcasing images and stories from our adventurous and outdoor-loving contributors at Elevation Outdoor Magazine. Follow along and see where our team of adventure-seekers like to spend their weekends.
