I don't think I have a fishing problem, but my wife does. Hopeless obsession, maybe, but it's not something I'd consider a "problem." In fact, it's provided me with too many ultimate adventures to be classified as anything but a SOLUTION to the daily armpit stink of life.
Jefferson (not George) or bust
This coming week my lovely wife and I will be headed to Orygun for a few days with her parents. You read my mind: there’s always a catch. Yep, Orygun. Yep, in-laws. Grand.
So at this point I’m left to tie big bunny leeches and tiny copper johns for Metolius bulls, as I’ll be entirely confined to central Oregon. “Yeah, not so awful” you might think, but at a time when the coastal rivers and Columbia tribs like the Sandy and Clack are filling up with big winter chrome, it makes me wonder if I could sneak away for a day unnoticed. Not likely but let me dream.
