Fat Little Trout Type Thing

A package arrived that held inside a pair of heavy duty waterproof boat boots. Opening the cardboard flaps unleashed the odor of fresh neoprene that soon overwhelmed the room and I stuck them in the garage.

The last time I inhaled that much polymerized 2-chlorobutadiene occurred when I bought my first pair of waders. My roommate told me to wear the gravel guards on my elbows and I didn’t believe him then but he still tells it like I did.

It took me a long time to catch a trout.

I don’t think about trout very often now but that’s mostly a matter of geography. I live on an island with hundreds of miles of striper coastline and three imperfect trout streams.

One of them opens for catch and release soon and in this interlude five-weight aspirations gain momentum.

4X, bow cast, tip set, jump, roll, flash pink.

Dial 1-800-Mix-A-Lot and kick them nasty thoughts.


15 thoughts on “Fat Little Trout Type Thing”

  1. Don’t let Smithhammer anywhere near that secret brookie stash. He’ll slaughter them with an eye so ravenous it makes a post-slumber Grizzly look like a 5th Avenue tabby plucking Fancy Feasts out of Waterford crystal.

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