It’s that time again. Crap must be reorganized. All that is old shall be made new, or at least all the old shall be made to be put in new Akro-bins from my new favorite store. On the docket: reorg the warmwater materials storage, reorg and restock the early season-slash-go-anywhere trout box, inventory tippet, clean some lines, lube some reels, wax some ferrules. And what’d be smart is to get a head start on tying for the spring stands on the ROP. And prototype some warmwater monstrosities.
Ah, what’s the point … we’re all going to die.
The one-sided conversation of moving water is currently a static and dumb ice-scape from Sny Magill to Nipigon Village, citizens, and although we know that April come she will, there’s no guarantee that you, me, or any of us will be around to wade it. This year or any year. Life is tenuous and fragile (cite your source: Slint).
The re-org is more than off-season busywork … it’s definitely that, but … it’s also an act of faith that we’ll make it to the river at least one more time. Nothing’s guaranteed cause the carnival’s for free (cite your source: J. Prine), but I see no point in having your caddis box be all disorganized and disgraceful or in using 4x like a shithead cause your 5x spool ran out, or your so-called floating line drags your BWO parachutes under because your jaded ennui left you too exhausted to dress it, Simone de Beauvoir, because what if you don’t get called home? Then what? You look like a dumbass in front of the trouts, is what.
Drift each cast, drink each apres-hatch micro-brew, fish out each skinny stupid improbable meaty awesome textbook lifetime run like it’s your last. Oh, and don’t fuck it up.
See your dying asses on the river. Just nice be out.