Moving upstream didn’t help matters – the banks were crowded under the same guise – and before the sun had even shown intentions of setting we were charging towards less stressful circumstances. Still wadered up from the ride, we picked up a meager supply of fish before dark, thoughts of pizza, booze, and bedding consuming us (and soon visa versa) thereafter. A dessert is discovered, bellies are filled, and whiskey (which is purchased in quantity because of county tax differentials) is taken down in moderation pending concoction of some arbitrage play. Still, couldn’t stop thinking about the potential efficacy of swinging Cap-Lures.
The clock was ticking, and just before the buzzer Bandito Lipton a.k.a. The Roughfisher took the shot.
MG signing off (to find an oxygen bar – much needed after the ammonia we inhaled downwind from that water treatment plant)