His fingers, worn from years of use, twitch as he mends and retrieves. He works the fly over and over, just like yesterday and the day before. Fishing has become a job, a place to report every morning, punching in and out day after day. Has it lost its magic? Grumbling and calling it a day, he takes that familiar walk back to the car and drives home.
Magic lost! Seems like a job? Watching him pass by, I could see the tired expression of a man who has grown old too soon. Thinking that could be me one day, I thought about my own routine. I fish every day, the same river, the same pool, the same fly. Was I a burnout doing the one thing I loved to do? My life revolved around fishing, making flies, and the realization that I missed so many birthdays, graduations, concerts, get-togethers. To my family, I was a stranger.
Over the years, I used to take long breaks from fishing. Careers, children, new homes, new pets, and job transfers meant the nearest trout stream was far away. I survived, and when the opportunity arose, I turned fishing into an epic adventure. Not that I needed to go to Patagonia or Alaska; sometimes, the best fishing is where you are.
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