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It's tomorrow

It’s today. But yesterday, today was tomorrow.
Photo: Chris Hunt

Son of a …

My eyes flip open. I reach for my phone and blindly swipe the screen to turn the damned alarm off. Everything is blurry. The alarm keeps blaring. I close my eyes tightly and reopen them.

The phone is upside down.

I flip it and slide the alarm bar to, “OK, already! I’m awake! Sweet mother of Christ!”

Yes. I know. Blasphemy is no way to start the day. But, seriously. It’s 6 a.m. already? Where did the night go?

Maybe I'll fish tomorrow

Mother Nature clearly has it out for me
Photo: Chad Shmukler

What the …

Is that … ?

Oh. The alarm.

I reach blindly for the phone on the nightstand. I don’t usually set an alarm, but today is different. As consciousness slowly overcomes dreamland, I have a vague memory as to why.

The Firehole. Fishing. One the last shots at it for the year.

Indifly wants you to cough up 66 cents a day to help fish and indigenous communities

Funds will go to help indigenous communities build sustainable livelihoods through sportfishing ecotourism
Photo: Josh Hutchins

And why not? Indifly is a one-of-a-kind, non-profit organization dedicated to protecting fisheries by empowering indigenous communities to generate sustainable livelihoods through ecotourism.

Unpacking is where it's at

Some folks love the anticipation of packing for a fishing trip, I like unpacking better
Photo: Mike Sepelak

It’s a common sentiment, written about with great regularity, that the packing for a trip is often as exciting as the trip itself. The suspense, the planning, the first steps into what one eagerly anticipates being a glorious adventure. The rod selection, the preparation of flies, the compilation of outerwear, footwear, underwear, and where the hell’s that bug spray. It’s heady stuff, anticipating the trip as one counts down the days to departure, but I have a confession to make. I like the unpacking better.

Giving away fly rods

Parting with rods can be like parting with memories
Photo: Toby Rose Photography

My cup runneth over.

Or, rather, my fly-rod collection is embarrassingly big. I’m not braggadocious. There’s actually a bit of guilt associated with this claim. No one angler ought to have to spend 20 minutes debating which rod or rods to pack for a single outing to the river.

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