This mushroom season never achieved what it might have been. Cold fronts and ticks sullied my efforts. Above, the Rodfather poses with a few golden morels. This three-hour hunt yielded only 21 shrooms. The soil temperature, he says, never reached 50 when it needed to. It's almost over and we have hardly tasted any success. Trout are biting at Alcova and Pathfinder. Fly fishermen are wandering up from Colorado tracking mud into the Albersons and generally bumming me out with their high-dollar waders and hat brims full of flies. I need a break from Wyoming.