I’m the second wave of shock troops intent on despoiling the Pristine. The first wave hit the piney woods absent important supplies like aged booze and microwave pizza.

I got one short call full of the hissing and popping of atmospheric interference – suggesting that I’d better get up there.

“Why? Is fishing awesome?”

“No, * KRRRRR FSSST *  they’re repairing the road and * KRRRR * I’m stuck in traffic.”

Sounds more like a “misery loves company” story – but as I’ve got all the really obscene civilized luxuries in my truck, I’m obligated to go.

Not to mention I’m carrying all the really deadly flies, at least those worth borrowing long term. This year is no different – the crowd will make do with whatever remains from the fistfuls commandeered during last season, assuming resupply is imminent.

Passing provisions and gear between float tubes is always a bit dicey – like two ships matching bearing and speed and hope that your counterpart has a firm grip on the goods.

The communal fly box is chock full of Big 5 wet flies, he’ll have to dig through rubble before he gets to the Mother Load of proven killers. Figure a good stiff afternoon breeze and he’ll be eight or nine feet distant before he realizes he’s been duped.

… or I’ve been, once he lands something of size on a #8 Scarlet Ibis.

Tags: Big 5 flies, gone fishing, microwave pizza, obscene luxuries, fly fishing for trout