The Old Faithful Geyser
As I trudge through the calf deep mud and bison excrement, I hold my fly rod high above the muck with one hand. With the other I thumb the orange safety clip of my bear spray, listening for a rustle or a growl to warn me of an imminent attack. As I approach the river, a cloud of steam obscures the surface. Then, a sudden gust of wind lifts the steam and I see a dozen...
