It is 5am.  I rarely encounter this iteration 5 o'clock.
With a good measure of difficulty I roll out of bed and begin to make my way downstairs towards the smell of cooking breakfast.  It is dark throughout the house, save for a small light above the sink in the kitchen.  My roommate is already up and working his magic over the skillet.  We share our traditional jabs about who was able to wake first, and who will get a lesser share of the bacon.
This is our ritual, the beginning of some of the best times we can hope to spend together.
After breakfast and coffee, we load up the truck and begin barreling down the road, bound for more elevated territories.  Much of the trip to Location X is filled with talk of strategy and timelines; which fly patters to use in what waters, what part of the creek we will be in by which time of day- that sort of thing.  Both of us have been lately practicing a technique called Tight Line Nymphing.  "Competition regulation", my roommate says, and the new challenge lends itself to a good deal of excitement.
We continue to bump along the dusty dirt road, a bit worn from the most recent heavy rainfall, until we reach the mouth of the creek.  The truck is tucked back in the brush along the bank, and we throw on our gear and packs.  We are in the water and making our way upstream just as the sun is beginning to peak through the trees.
To the casual observer, it would all appear more closely associated with hunting than fishing.  We wear camouflaged patterns, creep low through the thicket, and crawl over river rocks like lizards.  These are all very necessary measures, as we are stalking through Native Trout territory.  These fish are much more elusive than their stocked siblings, and many times more difficult to land.  The particular nature of native trout requires a delicate approach to the water.  Once a run has been cast into a handful of times, we move on.  If one of us slips on a stone and causes more than a small ripple upstream, we move on.  If the sun peaks from behind a cloud and causes us to cast a shadow towards the other bank, we move on. As is such, there is a fair balance of moving through rough-cut trails and along the bank between cast series. 
Each run is approached with a due level of respect and consideration.  The first few casts allow the nymph to dead-drift through the current.  Each subsequent cast incorporates various jigging techniques in order to rouse any particularly coy salmo trutta that may be patrolling nearby.
By noon we have made our way several miles upstream to the confluence.  We share our customary mid-day meal of Pepsi and beef jerky, with Cow Tails for dessert and sustained energy. 
It is at this moment that the serious business begins.  After lunch we each pick a side of the fork to work up, and assign ourselves a 200-yard beat to fish exclusively.  This is to simulate the circumstances in a competitive scenario, and practice having to catch fish in an area with limited potential. 
"Fish to the right side of the fork if it has rained recently, fish to the left side if it is cloudy".  This is what we were told by a guide we met along the way, who begrudgingly offered the information due to the fact that we already had knowledge of this particular location.  It was neither cloudy nor had it recently rained, so we consider conditions to be all square.
The remainder of the afternoon continues on in similar fashion, as it usually does.  We see no other people moving about.  It is sincerely rare that anyone ventures this deep in to the wilderness area.  Being among wilderness so rarely exposed to humans, we regularly see patterns of animal behavior that surprise us.  You come to understand and appreciate the depth and beauty of the natural world beyond what one can observe from the side of a nature trail.
We meet back up at the confluence before daylight begins to wain and begin to make our way through the woods and back towards the footpath.  The walk back is filled with talk of successfully implemented strategy, and a comparison of catch numbers.  This is, of course, on the honor system.  In a way, this conversation and the long trek out of the wilderness is the best part of the trip.  The conclusion of another good day, marked by some great shared experience.