For the last couple of decades it’s been as much fly fishing tradition as Jungle Cock, or Mallard flank. That pre-dawn car full of hopeful careening up the interstate before John Law pacifies it once again ..
… and the fellow in the back that hasn’t yet discovered he’s forgetten his reel, who caroused far into the night despite our warnings not to – and suggests one last civilized breakfast is needed and he’ll be fine.
Proximity to the creek means four guys racing to be the first to dampen boot, and one fellow trying to keep that civilized breakfast down. By Sunday, it’s three guys getting in some last licks, and one fellow hoping that meal will come out – at any cost.
With good reason, considering the campground Porta-Potty may be the next Valley of Kings …
A recent non-scientific experiment suggests that same fine breakfast, when left on the sink, would not change significantly over the following six months. With plenty of photographic evidence to back the claim, little wonder there’s always one member of your party incapacitated completely, and the balance in some culinary-gastric hell they’re trying to fight through.
Outside of the bun getting a bit pale, I can’t see much difference.
Contrasted with the righteous indignation us anglers displayed when fish DNA was being modified, yet we’ll gladly inhale genetically modified taters and irradiated beef patty without so much as hint of protest …
I guess our DNA doesn’t count.
With so much baked in goodness, we had to make it a lasting value. btw…I sent your home address to PETA. Like all things we do, it’s the American way.
Never as a breakfast, you moron! Teh yellow ejaculation is to be visited ONLY after fishing. And by that time I’ll eat anything containing starch, calories or vitamins.
Now I understand what I’ve been doing wrong, as a McD’s breakfast transmutes into either the Unstoppable Force, or the Immovable Object.
I guess it’s a return to BBQ potato chips and red licorice as morning fuel …