Once in a while a man does something that, at the time, seems perfectly harmless. Then in retrospect he realizes the extent of the damage caused by that now not so innocent act.
I have fished five times in the last two weeks and have only a crappie and three trout to show for it. I fear that I committed a mortal sin when I…washed my fishing rag. Woe, woe, woe is me.
This morning while again catching nada, I looked down at the right time and saw the mother of all Kansas trout breach the surface not five scant yards in front of me in an attempt to Ginsu a minnow. I swear it snarled at me, and my pistol was in my pocket.
Please don’t send cards or, especially, offer advice. I will prevail. Eventually, I will once again render that fish rag a smelly, stiffened, barely recognizable square of red cloth that bruises my leg in the wind whilst I pilot a watercraft into the blue beyond.
I will once again adorn the pages of Facebookdom with self-serving photographs of behemoths of the deep while laying claim to their defeat. Don’t cry for me, don’t cry for me.
Of Fishing and Family 