I can’t really make any bold or youthful statements about how hard I roll or how Xtreme I am. Right now, the wife is away in the city for work, as is our normal schedule these days. My daughter is asleep, after trying to stall that inevitability by asking for a fishing story… yeah, this girl has me wrapped around her finger.
The house is still. Dog is asleep. TV is off. Pandora is streaming a mix based on Metric and I’m at the vice. I can’t overstate how optimistic this act is. If anything, I should be tying up Eng Thengs or BHFB PT’s. I’m not, though. I’m tying up variations of Gotcha’s. If I get to use these flies at all, it won’t be until March or April. But here I am… tying (well, typing right now, but you know what I mean).
I have it bad… what can I say? I think it is because bonefishing is just so different from how I normally fish. I’m a river guy, a nymph guy… I cast all day, strike all day, reading the water is mundane because out of the 600 or 700 casts I make, only a few of those are going to yeild a fish… maybe 30-60 strikes in a day. Bonefishing though… the stalking, the hunting, the clear water of the flat, the mangroves and the rays. Man… I need it in my life. NEED.
So… on these bachelor nights, I may tip a Downtown Brown, Moose Drool or Newcastle here in the mountains, but my thoughts are thousands of miles away.
My episodic bachelor pad
