My fishing partner Ben stopped by last night to shoot the breeze and celebrate his recent retirement. It's important for us to get together occasionally during the winter months. It keeps us from going completely insane as we wait for decent fishing weather.
We sat at the kitchen table and had a couple of beers while we talked about everything we'd been doing the past few weeks. Ben is a grouse hunter and his dogs keep him busy wearing out boot leather chasing these handsome birds. It is something he takes very seriously and I like listening to him talk about it. The conversation drifted easily from one topic to the next... bow hunting... fly tying... wild mushrooms... the Rocky Mountains in Montana.
Eventually, we poured a couple of glasses of whiskey and headed out to the garage. I opened the garage door and dropped the tailgate of the truck. Otis the Wonder Dog sat happily between us as we fired up cigars and stared into the blackness of this January night.
talked about how no one seems to be all that interested in the things
we do anymore. At least not the way we do them. Being an outdoorsman for
us has always been a very personal. It's hard to explain to most people, but there is a high level of satisfaction that comes along with doing something the right way... which is rarely the easy way. Time seems to have passed us by right along with our traditional interests, but as I sit here this morning thinking about this, that's okay. These simple things where we seem to find so much pleasure would not be so special if everyone did them. In fact, their relative obscurity only adds to the mystique. I don't think I'd want it any other way.