And with that, I’m out of here. Tomorrow through Friday I’ll be leaving you in the capable hands of my colleagues.
Bright and early – for me, anyway – my Dad and I will be driving 250 some odd miles north up The County to the Libby Camps, where we’ll spend three days fishing. In between the thunderstorms that are predictably arriving with me, of course.
We’ll be fishing for the regular bass and trout, and in a new one for me, landlocked salmon. Given that the area is remote enough that the nearest two stores are a.) a 45 minute ride along a dirt track, and b.) a 1 day trip by canoe away, we’re hopeful that our chances of landing fish are better than they would be, say, here. But we shall see.
As you might expect, while no one’s confirmed this for me, I expect precisely zero connectivity once onsite, so don’t sweat the lack of communications. No need to send out search parties; unless we don’t make it back to the lodge at night, in which case send out search parties.
Provided I’m not trampled by a moose, robbed by Canadians, struck by lightning, or eaten by a bear, I’ll be back with all of you this weekend – Monday at the latest – boring everyone with pictures of fish. Mine, my Dad’s, the guys at the lodge’s. Whatever.
Be good while I’m gone. And tell the Red Sox we need a better effort than we saw tonight. I don’t want to drop any more to Philly.
P.S. Thanks for the trip, Mom.
