I sit here in front of my glowing computer screen once again. Thinking. Thinking about telling a story. A story about fishing in the mountains, about bad behavior and debauchery, silliness without serious consequences in the name of a good cause.
I feel like I have said it all before. Three times, actually. So what is there left to tell you? A lot. But not without some hardcore put-some-words-on-paper activity. I don’t think I am up to the task this year.
It is all the same shit, basically. But all very different at the same time. But that is where the problem lies; in the details. It takes a long time to get out those important particulars that make the story what it should be.
Take a life sporting event, a football game, for example. Let us say that you attend a pro football game and when you come home someone who was not at the game asks you to explain what happened. What do you tell them?
Well, there were two teams, and they took turns passing and running the ball for four quarters and one of them won.
Well, there was about seventy guys who went to the mountains and partied and drank and ate awesome food and fished a tournament and we won the fly fishing division.
Is that how you wanted it? Yeah, didn’t think so.
But this year and right now, that is how you are going to get it. Because this write-up almost smelled like work, which when it comes to a for-fun fly fishing blog, should be avoided at all costs.
I don't know. Maybe I am just still mourning Singlebarbed.
So be patient, our valued readers. There is awesomeness on the horizon.
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