I have a cautionary tale I’d like to share. Forgive me for not painting a more eloquent picture, but everything is still a bit too real, and raw, to gussy it up with pretty writing.

Yesterday was January 2. It was also very nearly the last day of my life.

I drove down to the Missouri River on New Years Day - Wednesday, the 1st - hoping to take advantage of the 40 degree weather and test a bunch of gear for our annual Sporting Classic fly fishing equipment review. I spent most of Wednesday afternoon on the river, and despite the cold water temps - it was in the 33 to 34 degree range - I had solid fishing and the opportunity to check out a number of new rods, reels, waders, jackets, packs, etc.

As a one-time beer journalist and bar owner, current nano brewery partner, and overall miscreant, it’s probably surprising that I actually have any time to fish. However, since days that include alcohol before sundown have largely been deleted from my databanks, there turns out to be large swaths of non-drinking time to fill. At the end of any good day, though, I’m reminded of what my Sensei said when told that the other Senseis decided that perhaps they should stop drinking beer at the dojo, which was also a Buddhist temple. To this he replied, “I’m 83 years old.