The amount of stripping that is required is obnoxious and for days on end after the conclusion of each unimpressive trip the carpal tunnel generally reserved for my hands by repetitive key strokes is now a result of the tendons in the left hand grasping, pulling, and releasing fly line over 50,000 times consecutively.
There is no shuttle service and the taxi that used to be there was not only closed recently but a gratuitous offer for service of any kind was refuted with extreme prejudice. We have to drive two cars now or somehow I have to get back in shape enough to navigate 20 potentially meth laden road miles between launches. McKayla and I are still not impressed.
It always seems to be either too hot or too cold, however it seems as though the moderate amount of success that has come is always had right on the cusp of a hospital visit to clear up the frostbite on someone’s fingertips.
My shoulders hurt from rowing. My hands hurt from casting. My buddy almost broke his neck while pushing the boat and now we are out of beer. I honestly don’t think this could be any more unimpressive.