“...essence of the fifty years this pecan wood gave to becoming the presence of this gathering with the swine” 



   “...the realization of the blended stories of two powerful forces”



   “...the land yields the substance for life”



  “...the sky is smiling”




   “...no words necessary”



   “...go Cub’s????😳”



   “...layered to perfection, the stratus of goodness wales down upon the spirit for the flavors of our memories”



  #gravy train 


"All work and no play...makes Jack a dull boy"

I fish to avert the dull boy syndrome in my life. My wife would suggest it's more of a male bonding ritual, but either way I do enjoy the brief diversion from the everyday. There are a multitude of activities people use for this same purpose, but I've been fishing since I was two years old. It delivers a level of satisfaction, and feeds the me beneath the surface, down at a core level of personal being. It’s difficult to articulate without sounding somewhat selfish to myself, but there’s so much more to the balance it delivers to the rest of my life. 


Our tournament was canceled due to a thick fog covering the lake. It was unsafe to allow the participants to blast off in boats capable of sixty plus miles per hour speeds. While we waited for the tournament director to reach this conclusion, we spent five hours under the pavilion socializing with other fishermen. Granted, there were a couple of female anglers in the crowd, the vast majority though were men ranging from their late teens to maybe early seventies. The median age fell somewhere in the mid forty’s, so a somewhat older demographic. This common thread woven through this group of individuals is their passion for fishing. Competition amongst any group of similarly persuaded folks adds some kindling to that passionate fire, but the spark lies within the therapy of fishing. Countless stories of precious moments spent engaged in the quest to master a species existing for thousands of years with nothing more than the instinct to survive. Their voices rise, and eyes widen as those stories roll off their tongues, just as if they were actually in that very moment all over again. No talk of politics or ideology of any kind there. No disagreements over being right or wrong. Not so much as a cross word about race, gender, or ethnicity. No, these people bond over a hobby that fills something inside them, as it does for me. Each of us caught within an unexplainable serinity over being on the water, trying desperately to identify how to better understand a fish...