It’s time to go fishing. It’s been too long since I’ve thrashed the water with a fly line. I’m thinking it’s time to call in fishin’ at work and head for the beaver ponds while the boys are still in school. Yeah, I feel a little guilty about going fishing without my sidekicks, but when fishing season comes around, it’s every man for himself.
I need to go fly-fishing much more often than I’ve been able to go in recent years. It keeps me sane. I need the steady rhythm of the cast, the peaceful quiet of the backcountry, and the occasional flurry of excitement when a fish strikes to get my mind off of work, parenting, politics, and other causes of stress. And in my case, there’s the added benefit of snagging myself in the back of the neck on a mistimed switch from backcast to forecast. You can’t think about politics or the drama of the office when you have a No. 18 prince nymph wedged past the barb in that really sensitive spot just above your collar and below your ear.
Get out to your favorite spot on the water soon.
