"Grinnin' like a mule eatin' saw briars."

Monday, August 9, 2010

Ain't that Quaint, or Isn't That Quisn't?

As I sit in my office, my back turned to Clingmans Dome, I think "ain't that quaint." We seem to be in a standoff, my mountains and me, and that probably won't change for a while. It's a classic love story. That which offers intrigue and desire can be the same object that seems too big to conquer, no matter how well you think you know it.

While the Ohio plated convoy passes through, I sit in resentment. These folks see only what is passable by minivan, never knowing the ethereal beauty possessed in even the shortest walk or breathed in during briefest of engine stops. In short, I'm part of the select few that realize what lies beneath my girl's gorgeous exterior surpasses even the hardiest mountain mans idea of grandeur. It's a seasonal love affair, and I hate it. No, that's not right. Actually I need it.

So, if you're with my girl this week, don't get too attached. She always comes home to me, she just likes to have fun.

And if you commune, be sure to commune in the high country. Fishing will be good, but it will be better early and late. Dries with small droppers, you pick the pattern. You'll do well.

September is right around the corner, then the next thing you know it's winter. And we all know that winter fishing, for those of us who are lucky enough to live where that's applicable, is the best fishing of all.

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