Fishing and Drinking with Strangers

I’ve been called antisocial and maybe that’s partly actual. It’s true I fish alone more often than not but I never drink unaccompanied. Either way, in both careers you are bound at some point to partake with strangers. The two are actually interwoven but, still, there are parallels.

It’s not like with old friends or family where the past can be referenced without speaking, there’s a feeling out process.

There’s a certain trepidation where you’re not sure whether your skills are on par with the others involved. But with action it’s quickly sorted who is all talk and who is the real deal.

There’s usually a point where you decide whether it’s best to keep going, disengage or say the hell with it and go all in.

There’s always somebody involved who forgets this isn’t high school, and nobody else gives a fuck how many beers you drank/fish you caught.

Sometimes there comes a point of no return–where you feel remarkable kinship with these people and you’re going to open a bar/fly shop together even though you’re not sure if in reality they are complete jerks or wealthy tax evaders or run meth labs.

Sometimes the hours slip by like seconds and the next thing you know you’re surprised by the sunrise.

Sometimes the next day you regret it.

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