Scant recollections

Being that it's been a long time since this trip (and plenty more is going on) I may as well do us both a favor and summarize a bit more.

We left the campsite early on, both starving and a little exhausted. Seeing as I couldn't find my stash of emergency snack bars under that sea of hastily packed equipment behind us we headed back to town for breakfast before carrying onward towards a known sweet spot in the Gallatin.
The time to fish is now.

What followed was a refreshing workout which my legs have rarely had as I battled (at times) waist deep currents between shores. Also, before heading out I slathered on a good amount of SPF-something due to my determination in seeing how my skin would fare from a day of upper-torso exposure to the sun (which if you know me is as rare an occurrence as any).
It turns out it responds pretty good, at least when those areas are actually covered. To this day I have an imprint on my left shoulder revealing where I prematurely declared, "All good!" and tossed the bottle back into the car.

Did I catch anything? Yes. Anything worth explaining? Nope.
But what was caught does technically qualify as 'fish' so all said and done I still felt as though I'd accomplished something.

After many hours walking the rivers and meeting one gigantic dog (seriously - have you ever seen The Sandlot?) my friend and I returned to the city for what is now unequivocally the best burger I have ever tasted. So good it literally made a vegetarian reevaluate their life choice.
Yes, as far as I am concerned Ted Turner can colorize anything he sees fit just so long as I can continue devouring his livestock.

From what I recall the rest of the evening was quite low key as we were pretty well wiped by that point.

*Addendum: we got back in time enough for Casey to make his intramural soccer game: what a flashback that was.

I gathered my hat and lawn chair then sat upon the sidelines watching with an indifference to the outcome as any sport I've ever witnessed.
I was, however, hypnotized by the experience of being part of such a team...not since grade school had I played soccer but it all came rushing back as I watched both segments (they call them that, right?) play out. I made a vow right then and there - as tired of the sun as I'd ever been - that next season I'd be a part of such a thing myself.
Of course, whether this culminates into anything is really anyone's guess; after all, I'm one fickle individual.

As the game ended and we arrived at his car, I heard my now pooped pal utter a sound of shock I wish I'd been more prepared for: looking up from the door handle I followed his bugged out eyes to the sight of a dismantled fly rod threaded through the rack atop his vehicle: apparently when unpacking the car earlier he neglected to put these items away. Miraculously, every crucial piece was still there, miles from where he'd originally placed them.

I believe they refer to that as 'the luck of the Norwegians'. He must - or at least does now - pray to the fjords like a mofo.


They do that, right?