Context: It’s late February and it’s cold here in Montana. As I somehow manage to tie on a size 18 midge in the 40 mph wind standing in the Bighorn, I think to myself:

Steelheaders ain’t got shit on me. Sure, they’re crazy but then again, what reasonable fisherman wouldn’t be willing to sacrifice a couple of frozen fingers, a night frolicking, or a stool to perch on while sipping overpriced JD in trade for some screaming chrome. Hell, those aren’t sacrifices, those are entry level steps to achieving mediocrity in the world of trickery and wet feathered hooks.

What was I saying? Never mind, something just fell for my wet feathers. Shit! I forgot my net.