Put down the guns, pick up a fly rod

Alaska doesn’t do transitions. There is no gentle taper from one thing to the next. Transitions are abrupt and uneven.
One day you’re filling out the last tag you’ll use for deer season, and the next you’re pulling out the fly box because it’s time for steelhead.
All the energy I put into finding deer with horns is now focused on fish with blushy cheeks. I flipped through images of last winter’s steelhead adventures and saw some nice fish, all of which I remembered. My trips lacked thorough documentation. I found a couple details scribbled on a calendar, but not many. I couldn’t tell you what days I fished or how many there were, because I’ve stopped counting.
That’s a little odd because when I lived south it was almost important to accrue a monumental number of days afield. The dudes who test gear in Field and Stream Magazine have “days fished” in their little bio as if it makes us more comfortable with their recommendations. Maybe it worked the same for me. A tally proved I was an outdoorsman, not just someone who watches fishing shows and wears fishing clothes. I used to keep a journal of where I fished, how I fished, what I fished, and what I caught.

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