Post Trip Blues

A text to the Gov: "I can't take it, I'm dying here".  Response: "Take it easy, find a distraction", yeah, right. If it were so easy. Why does this happen? Why does the malaise, the listlessness set in about 7-12 days after a great expedition? Maybe it's one of those unexplainable things, like "how does an airplane stay aloft"? Okay, I know that's explainable, but I still marvel at it. Or better yet, "how does Bigfoot/Yeti/Sasquatch exist but he never gets photographed or captured?"

I'm here to tell you boys, there is a cure.  Moments in time. As the PTB's enter into my head and emotions I try to cast my mind back to a specific moment in time. One of my favorites this year was on an early morning hike upstream, two days of overcast and rain were giving way to breaking clouds and sunshine, birds were chirping (right Mule?) we were just embarking on one of the most spectacular days we were to have on the river, EVER.. I spotted a couple of Kings, and we all know what lies behind Kings.... I cast cross river, just behind the Crimson Giants, hoping to strike all the colors of a Rainbow.  The fly swings, the line comes tight and as cliche as it all sounds, the river erupted. Like a bat out of the proverbial Hell my line screams downriver, something goes airborne that should not be able to go airborne, (is it a plane?) and I realize I hooked that King. He took several jumps, raced back upstream, one more magnificent jump and threw the hook (barbless, of course Gov). THAT is what I remember, THAT is what is etched in my mind. That crimson missile in mid-air, frozen in time. It thrilled me to the core. Tonic for the PTB's.