Sat down the other day, finger of Balvenie Doublewood in one hand and half a keyboard in the other, and jotted down some things worth doing over the next eighteen years of my life. A “bucket list” perhaps, but wound up spending an inordinate amount of time crossing things off the list I’d already done…
Work in China Play Pebble Beach Dive the Great Barrier Reef Spill a drink on a DC politico Be best friends with a Collie dog Eat mushrooms at a Grateful Dead concert Catch a forty pound permit with a six-weight fly rod Oops…unscratch that.
Lastly, brew up some otherworldly meals from birds I’ve harvested. Actually done that before too, but the last time I immersed myself in the pursuit of fine feathered friends I fell off the back of a jeep and broke a couple of vertebrae. Been spooked ever since, and didn’t think about it again until just a few weeks ago.
Half of that battle is actually finding the wild things, and after feigning distress over the issue a couple of offers came rolling in. So this fall I’ll venture north. Meet up with some old friends, and trade ultra-fine brown-colored beverage for
their companionship use of their pointers.
Bought myself a birthday present to celebrate the plan…
MG signing off (because conjuring excuses to buy new toys is the easy part)
PS: Thanks to MW Reynolds for getting it in so fast.