It Was Bound to Happen

Another summer slipped away, leaving me stuck in a land of endless summer and indecision. The heat and humidity were unbearable, and the stench of low tide and the strong sun in the late afternoon made it difficult to find a place to escape. After a half-hour, I was reminded of the unpleasant smell of decay, the roar of traffic on the road just fifty feet away, and the reckless jet skis running wild with unqualified riders enjoying their thirty-minute rentals. This was not the getaway I had imagined, so I reluctantly returned to the car and made a promise to myself to come up with a real escape.

I decided to talk to one of my oldest friends, my college roommate, who reminded me that I was too old for a road trip and that 95 was a mess. It seemed like he had given up on the idea. The prospect of driving 1,200 miles didn’t help matters either. I thought about Montana, or Denver and the Rockies!

How about the Blue Ridge? Close enough to drive in a day and only Atlanta stood in the way. Maybe go to the Keys and try for some tarpon or snook, road there is a problem and place is full of adult delinquents. Nothing beat drunk and crazy middle age Floridians. Mmm, not sure what I'd expected. 

My body was in full rebellion, and I desperately needed a tune-up. I needed to work on everything, including my attitude. This old dog still had a bit more fight in him, and I needed to get off the off-ramp and out of this rutted road. I had to find the fun tube!

Time Passes All

News of someone’s passing seems to come up every day. None of us will live forever. My mind wanders a bit each day, and the news of an old colleague, friend, ally, brother, or amigo passing away snaps me back to reality.

The name George brings to mind my dad, brother, and George Costa. I met George at my first TU meeting. TU members can be divided into three groups: those who proudly display their TU stickers on their cars, those who attend meetings for social reasons, and those like George—people who talk the talk and walk the walk. George was friendly, warm-hearted, and dedicated to uniting people in a common cause.

I moved away and became less active in TU, but I still miss the monthly Red Quill, George’s passion project. Despite his sometimes misguided efforts, George was always honest, and his results were never bad. Throughout his life, George was an honest man. He spent countless hours documenting our chapters’ history through his photographs and nights at town hall meetings, collaborating with the town and DEC to bring stalled projects to fruition.

Thank you, George, for your time, the young people you mentored, and your efforts to recruit new leadership in our chapter. We have a picture of George hanging in our home office, showing someone how to cast a fly rod. 

Tight lines