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.

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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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