When we made 'The Trego Turn’, the party started. We called them ‘fishing’ trips.
These trips provided an opportunity to blow off some steam as our personal and professional lives were starting, but continued to diverge. As for your humble orator, these trips were more about how many cheap beers yours truly could consume, while trying to solve the mystery of how many one dollar bills were missing from my wallet each morning. But as they became a regularly scheduled event, their meaning meant more to me as my process of unloading some unwanted baggage evolved and how these excursions became the medicine that exercised that horrible disease from my soul.
With all things in life, we were getting older…albeit represented only by a number. A location change was in order and mid-way through our odyssey, we lost that turn. But with all great friendships, something started to evolve and our trips matured into unbelievable fishing, memorable meals, great homemade beer and great conversation about how it was, how it is, and how it could be.
Now, I am sadden beyond belief that they will not be able to continue, but I am more than happy we had that first trip. The other 15 (or so) were a bonus and those memories are what will keep me going now and in years to come.
So, my next trip will be alone as I return to the solitude of the Brule and Namekagon with my trusty fly rod. And because after 29 years I still have not learned my lesson (see Part 1), another step in my therapy will involve an illegal act with a malted beverage….
…as I make that Trego Turn.
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