It is eerily quiet now. There is nary a sign of forced entry – a single unopened bottle of Kentucky bourbon is all that remains. The expedition took ten wily anglers to the suburban nether regions and back. We encountered caprs, walleye, smallies, as well as pea soup and the dearly departed. It cost us roughly five cases of beer and a half bottle of tequila. Neither homo sapiens nor pescado was harmed, unless you consider the lingering want for ibuprofen.
It was the 2010 South Platte Invitational, a damn fine affair if there ever was one.
And it went kind of like this…
MG signing off (to refuel, and rehydrate)