It’s hard to explain how big, wild, and treacherous Maine fly-fishing can be. With slick boulders, fast water, and no cell coverage, it’s an area that demands physical and mental stamina. Some of my fellow writers at a fly-fishing blog and I rented a house on a river to take a shot at some large-and-wild brook trout and landlocked Atlantic salmon. It was a trip years in the making.
We shared expenses and took turns cooking dinner each night. One of the guys cooked up some venison burgers from a buck that he himself had shot, field dressed, and packed out. He’s as good of a cook as he is an angler and hunter.
We’re a convivial bunch. Most of us have known each other for years. The chemistry is spot on, and we range in age from our 20s to our 60s. Fly fishing is what binds us. They’re all amazing anglers, and we have had a lot of fun fishing with each other over the years. We have shared many laughs and a few pensive moments. I’m so grateful for their friendship.
Unfortunately, I had to leave early due to a death in the family. I’m too saddened to write about it in detail right now, but it’s someone who has been in hospice for a while. Everyone had plenty of time to prepare for the moment. But, when it comes, it sure does suck.
A safe and restorative Memorial Day to all….