I was hoping this would be about frying trout, but it ain’t.
It’s about setting the alarm for 5:40 in the morning.
And wearing three pairs of socks at once, one of which is made from possum-fur. And refusing delicious, hot, wonderful, magical warm coffee because you’re on a goddamn boat in the middle of a lake and you don’t want to be the person who instigates a poop-stop.
Unsurprisingly, much time was spent arguing the relative safety of island-living to ensure safety from the zombpocalypse.
Everyone once and a while we changed bait. Different colors. Spinners. Glow in the dark. Shrimp scented. Little pieces of earthworms. Big pieces. Then we started bargaining with the fish: we’ll take perch instead of trout. Then we started threatening them: we were going to release¹ but now we’re going to keep you. Eventually we told the fish we really just wanted hamburgers anyway, so we left.
¹ A lie.January 8th, 2012 | Totally Unrelated