There’s a sore lack of fishing this week. Hence the lack of fresh fishing images for this post. Fixing to remedy that in the coming days, but logging 75+ hours between the AFFTA board meeting and the Dealer Summit didn’t leave a lot of time for anything else save a few harried midnight writing sessions to meet some freelance magazine deadlines.
Eagerly looking forward to a bit more of a balance this week.
That said, it was fantastic to meet the broad selection of folks who came into town for the AFFTA events. As always seems to be the case at these events, some interesting business happened at evening cocktail parties and dinners. More often than not, I figure the fly-fishing industry is run in boats and bars—that seems to be where things happen.
Fantastic to see old friends and make many new ones. Had the pleasure to meet some of the Yellow Dog gang; eager to get started working with them this coming week.
I ran up the canyon this morning to log a few hours fishing the Gallatin. As a somehow fitting end to a hectic week, at one point the bank—which by all appearances looked pretty damn sturdy—gave way and I found myself falling six-odd feet into the Gallatin. I had my camera tucked in the front of my waders, rod in the other hand, and had that flash of thoughtful panic we’ve all felt at one point or another. Do I try to make this less painful, or save the gear?
Predictably, I went for the gear. Rod survived, the camera got splashed when I took water in my waders but after a careful afternoon of drying emerged unscathed. I’ve got a fractured finger and a colorful array of scrapes and bruises, but I’ll heal. The gear won’t.
Just another day.
