The right hand turn comes abruptly as you approach the entrance to the road and before you know it the turns are taking a toll on your stomach. It is a well-known fact that this road and gratuitous amounts of bacon infused, grease laden, biscuit fat and coffee can concoct a less than amicable mixture in your gut. Yet, there is a familiarity in these winding woods and a comfort that can only be given by an old friend. A friend who is patient and waits for you in the midst of tantrums and illogical journeys that take you far away from the center of the world that you are comfortable in. Immediately after you make the turn the ascent up beckons you to wonder why it is you chose this route, moreover why you came back to fish here, but just wait 10 minutes and you reach the summit. There it is all so clear. The smell, the fog, the dew. Its all there. Waiting for you to come back home. Clear now. No fringe distortion, no obsessive compulsive jockeying for recognition and position. Just black and white clarity.
I suppose it is the human condition that draws us away from things that are comfortable and easy. It draws us away from places and things that provided us our first glimpse into a lifestyle or hobby that now proves to be irresistible, but still somehow we want more. Without hesitation the majority of us take the gifts given to us by these people, places, or things and try to morph them into something…well, better. But what makes better? Bigger, more elusive, more exotic, even worse more expensive? I have spent the better part of the last 3 years chasing these things. Some people who are far better anglers than I have made a hobby, even a career out of conducting their sporting lives in this manner, but once again I reiterate that they are much more skilled than I. It seems as though especially in the last three years the cosmic keepers of the piscatorial pleasure palace have been lined up to thwart my meteoric rise to fly fishing greatness. Each time it seems that I have a desire to pursue a new quarry and time permits, somehow the odds are stacked against me and I press. And press, and press. Before I know it the passionate pursuit of the relaxation and comfort we all seek has vanished and frustration and lust exists in its place. I read a book once and the author, James Babb wrote;