It is not the call of a river. Nor it is a call of a trout for me to come hunt him down. Both the nature and its inhabitants all do so very well without me.
So I assume that this call originates from inside of me.
I first thought that I would like to start the fly fishing again. I thought that I would tie a few February Red Stone-fly patterns as well as half dozen Woolly Buggers. You know, tie the Woolly Buggers with golden wolfram heads to sink them deep. And then hit a river this weekend... and hope for the best to be as happy as I have ever been while fishing.
That was my plan. To answer the call ringing inside my head.
Now it is Sunday afternoon, and I didn't do it. I even carried the fly tying gear back to garage just a moment ago, because - well - the kitchen table is not a good place to keep your fly tying gear for more than a week unless you are a trout bum with no real life with other people living inside the same house and affecting your decisions.
The real life. I think we are not getting in to this subject on this blog post. Too complicated. Too much going on in "the real life." Yeah right. Like there is something more real than a few moments of life fishing a trout.
All I am saying is that I feel it again. And that I might start over the fly fishing and this blog again. And that I would like to have you with me.
Because we make the world.