I have a confession to make: I have not been fishing.
I’ve been skiing, I’ve been running, hiking and gardening, but no, I have not been fishing.
My trusty fly rod — “Joan” — sits neatly in the rod holder in a corner of our dusty garage. My waders and boots are coated in last year’s mud and bug repellent; the smell of deet puts my mind at the river’s edge.
But in my mind is as close as I’ve gotten this season to the water and, well, that’s just not acceptable.
It’s time for a change.
