It’s Thursday night.
I just finished eating a workout of pressing, rowing, box jumps and burpees then dominating a salad, tenderized chunks of beef and corn bread. Now I’m packing for the weekend. Serious packing, for a serious weekend.
I’m in steelhead mode. Last time out the steelies weren’t kind to me, so there is a stronger sense of urgency this weekend. Putting pressure on yourself when fishing for a fish that, given the choice, doesn’t particularly want to be pulled in by the mouth isn’t helpful, but it happens anyway.
Last winter, I caught more steelhead than I ever had in my life, partly because I was employed only when a teacher needed a substitute. I’d much rather have a job than live the unemployed Trout Bum life…well, okay, I’ll be honest, if I could afford to live the Trout Bum life I don’t know how I’d say no. As a full-time teacher again, I talk to my students about purpose and direction, and yeah, fishing for steelhead and trout all the time would be more self-serving than anything, but it sure would be fun. A lot of fun. Dry flies and rainbows, nasty streamers for browns or tiny No. 22 midges for either, isn’t life supposed to be about having fun?
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