Gravel roads don’t have the adventurous chops of a two-track. Still, turning off of pavement stirs that part of the brain which knows wilderness. When the road disappears...
I measure the seasons by my fly-fishing calendar. Each season brings a new species. It’s now too hot for redfish and seatrout. Pretty soon, the tarpon and snook will arrive.
Cats were our target, but gar were frequent nibblers of our hooks stacked with minnows or slices of shad. Dad could always tell if it was a cat or a gar that had come-a-calling by watching the rod tip. Cats often stuck with ferocity—sharp bows in the rod that sometimes dislodged it from a forked driftwood prop and even sometimes drug the whole outfit into the churning river.
"Mom's a rookie."My husband is right. When it comes to rowing, I'm a rookie. The black grease smeared across the front of my orange fleece is evidence of that. I tried hooking our drift boat to my truck on my own. I'm not proud of my performance in the driveway. The dirty shirt is my now my scarlet letter and I have to wear it while I learn to row.