Life has finally tracked me down and pounced on me like I was a gazelle. At 36 years old, with three businesses, two kids, three dogs, and a tractor…I give up. I have lost the ability to do whatever I want, whenever I want to do it. I admittedly had a good run, made possible by a better-than-good wife. I fished hard and often. I chased the hot bites, hatches and my next PBR all over the country. I drove seven hours for eight hours of fishing at the drop of a hat on a regular basis. I made my meager living guiding and working in a shop and living my love 24/7. I now live my passion more like 1.75/.2. What I didn’t realize was that while I was chasing fish, my life was chasing me. I’m not sure I ever even saw it coming. Trying to hold on to the past is a moot point. I’ve got 20 years of grind looming on my horizon and no rich, sick uncles I know of.
I’m not saying that I would trade my life now for my life back in the day. No, the honor of raising a couple of kids in my image is something I wouldn’t trade. The privilege of seeing them discovering the world around them with a fly rod in their hands is absolutely the most exciting prospect in my life so far. But still, I had a LOT of fun up until now. I’ll still eek out a few trips and do a lot of fishing close to home with the kids. But there will be a lot less “I” and hell of a lot more “we” in the next 20 responsible years of my story.
My wife has often compared me to a caged gorilla, always planning my escape and going ape shit when the door is opened and I’m free to roam. (I’m also quite hairy.) I guess the whole point of this is, the old silverback has finally been broken — for at least a little while.