When in the East, I often fish with people belonging to a small group of friends. One of them, Bill, has a boat. I had planned to fish with him and another friend, Mike, on Friday night for stripers. Unfortunately, I’ve been hit hard by a cold. That the price you pay for taking your kid out of daycare and travelling for a month; when you get back there are all sorts of germs for your kid to bring back home. Such is life. Anyway, while my friends didn’t get into any fish on Friday, it sounds like they had a good time or, at the very least, created some good memories.
Mike describes the misadventure that he and Bill had last friday night, at his blog: Mike’s Gone Fishin’ … Again (check out Bill’s blog too, and be sure to click on “artwork.”). Here’s a teaser:
Where’s 004? Where’s the goddamn waypoint?
Bill hunkered down behind the console windscreen, out of the stinging rain, and stabbed desperately at the Lowrance buttons, frantically popping up glowing GPS coordinates and relief maps and menus and who knows what in rapid succession, searching urgently for the tiny boat ramp icon as we skipped across the surface of the lake like a thrown stone. Into darkness.
The Literary Fly Fisher 
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