Funny how the premonition of impending doom sneaks upon you now and again; that premonition knocked on the door last night about 9.
During the wee hours, in about the time it takes to drag a boat from Bozeman to Ft. Smith to float the Bighorn (winter season), a bitch of a flu possessed me with all it’s glorious manifestations.
Between runs to the bathroom (and the required coin flip to see which end of the digestive system takes precedence), the fever and chills have induced dreams visions of fly fishing in exotic destinations with a strange cast of characters (my first fly fishing mentor, Amy Adams and someone who looked just like Fat Guy Alex most recently).
Lying on the bathroom floor about an hour ago after a most distasteful purge (double entendre intended) as the room spun round I had the vision of sitting in a fancy wooden drift boat rowing like hell to keep from being sucked into a giant whirlpool on some river.
Sorta looked the Missouri now that I think about it; pending flows there actually are some whirlpools on the Mo…
Beam me somewhere else Scotty.
