The true trout fisherman is like a drug addict; he dwells in a tight little dream world all his own, and the men about him, whom he observes obliviously spending their days pursuing money and power, genuinely puzzle him, as he doubtless does them. And sometimes he fishes not because he regards fishing as being so terribly important but because he suspects that so many of the other concerns of men are equally unimportant.~Robert Traver
Monday, April 9, 2007
Of no moral character/work ethic..
In other words....a damn fine piscator! Thank you boys, I'll take that compliment. Ti's a sad time in a man's life when he crosses out a fishing trip for a meeting, and it's not even December. Things are out of whack. Twas a good day. As you can see, the stream was a bit high and cloudy, but not enough to stop a good bushy dry from doing it's job. I'll spare you the mercy boys, and tell you straight, it was a damn fine day. Not even a nip from the ole flask would have improved this outing. I fished about 200 yards, gathered in many a trout, even hit the proverbial triple play, if only for the lack of Brookies, she'd had let me score a home run!
The fish gods smiled heartily upon my journey that day. Even the Mrs. gave her parting blessing. (Usually a sure sign of disaster) The type of day that may come but once a year, but more often than not, every other year; when the planets align, bait flingers stay home, and solitudes reigns supreme and every cast is a winner. Of this you will know...I can die a satisfied man, until next time that is.
Twas a good day. As you can see, the stream was a bit high and cloudy, but not enough to stop a good bushy dry from doing it's job. I'll spare you the mercy boys, and tell you straight, it was a damn fine day. Not even a nip from the ole flask would have improved this outing. I fished about 200 yards, gathered in many a trout, even hit the proverbial triple play, if only for the lack of Brookies, she'd had let me score a home run!
The fish gods smiled heartily upon my journey that day. Even the Mrs. gave her parting blessing. (Usually a sure sign of disaster) The type of day that may come but once a year, but more often than not, every other year; when the planets align, bait flingers stay home, and solitudes reigns supreme and every cast is a winner. Of this you will know...I can die a satisfied man, until next time that is.
No comments:
Post a Comment