Leaving Alaska when the steelhead are around to go chase trout in California doesn’t make sense.
So I understand when I get teased and mocked for it. The simple remedy is to explain that the uniform to be worn while catching the two-foot trout is flip-flops, shorts and a long-sleeved t-shirt more to keep the sun from burning skin than keeping warmth in. Add in the fact that I did spend the majority of my adult life fishing with friends I made while teaching in California and everything makes sense.
It’s not about the fish. It’s about the experience, and everything that goes into it. Okay, well not all about the fish. I can’t wait to feel the pull of a Lower Sacramento rainbow trout. I want that feeling.
But right now I’m on the plane, which means by the time this is published, my week in California will be almost over. I will have hopefully caught rainbows on the Lower Sacramento River, brown trout on the Pit, floated down sections of the Yuba River, a secret river in my new Water Master raft, and of course eaten dozens of chicken wings at Buffalo Wild Wings.
That’s what I’m hoping.
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