...to contemplate drowning a fly in water, this happens. Again.
Yeah, that's my old Ford. It's been used and abused, busted and disgusted over the years, but it somehow keeps going, carting me back and forth from the river. He's tired today, two days before Christmas. Just yesterday, he was raring to go, hoping to shuttle me - today - back to the river, which just 24 hours ago appeared to be ready for action by obsessive local fishermen like myself. I walked along the banks yesterday morning, making note of a decent water level that looked ripe for some late season nymphing. As I walked, I even saw a small bit of surface action, trout rising to the surface thanks to relatively mild temperatures and sunshine.
As they say, that was then, this is now. Snow and cold. Again. I knew I should have jumped through the small window of opportunity and at least give it a shot. It's doubtful I would have caught anything picture worthy (which to me means anything, period), but at least I would have known for certain.
At least I know I'm not alone. I take comfort in the fact that there are others out there who share my dementia. Here's my way of coping. The results are ugly sometimes, but I'm learning.
It's clear I need therapy!