fishing for words

(and tossing out random thoughts)

a confession

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To be honest, I left home yesterday (actually left from the office) not as fired up as usual about the annual club fishing trip to the Eastern Sierra.

Now that I’ve been on “the Eastside” for about 16 hours I know why.

I didn’t get out with the fly rod often enough this year. I had forgotten what it meant to be standing in the clear water of a mountain stream so intensely focused on fooling that one fish that every other concern or worry melted away.

Leading up to this re-realization was a pretty unique — or special — morning.

The traffic ran into during my commute was entire comprised of bovines. Yes, I had to move into the other lane to pass cows.

My first stop was at the West Walker River, and as I contemplated the river, reveille echoed over the meadow, marking the start of the day at the Marine Corps Mountain Warfare Training Center. (To quote a Facebook friend, “Hoo Ahh to that! What a great day to be fishing in the USA!”

It was.

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P.S. This entire post was composed on my iPhone, so please excuse any sloppiness. And I really don’t know how I feel about being able to do so.

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