Fast forward 50 years, my dinner stays put but the excitement still burns. Part of that heat is fueled by reconnaissance: searching out new places, often with a slow drive-by, peep shows through winter’s leafless buffer zones to shorelines and their potential. At times, rather than have brake lights call attention to my activity, I’ll park, get out and walk a bit with binoculars in hand – making like I am interested in birds which I am but not the priority in this instance.
Presently there are 14 days until fishing season opens here in upstate New York. While spring did make a brief showing last week (the bright sun and warm air had me casting with a pal, goofing around with Tarpon lines of all things), the majority of my waters are still iced over or have dangerous iced edges - the human version of cattle stops.
By checking in on the water my excitement is kept at a simmer, a conscious effort to manage boil over and a way to deal with the waiting.