There is a saying that adventure travel is only adventurous after the fact. during the trip it is more like a day-long pain in the butt. sometimes fly fishing is like that. It is not until the last rays of the sun (or later for those Madison river evenings) slip away that the day starts to become fishing stories. As friends gather around a table of food and drink the eats become more epic, the flies smaller, the wind harsher, the misses more painful and the mistakes become more hilarious. It is here, in this moment, that memories are cast. And it is here, in this place, at this time, that you need a cold one, a fried one and one on a bun. Or something like that. Follow my blog with bloglovin
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