I took some time off one spring to fish.
I had mostly planned for it. Months earlier, as I tied flies and rigged my truck for camping, my wife began referring to the coming downtime as my “sabbatical.” That felt generous, a characterization maybe reserved for priests and tenured professors, not a bored, half-assed attorney.…
“F**%^$CK YES!!!!” had no sooner left my mouth in a scream at the same time as I sank to my knees with my arms outstretched above my head in a remote creek of Montana. The cutthroat trout of a lifetime had just been scooped in the net. It took a number of minutes to actually land this monster…