"Scratching the Itch"
It was Friday night in Manhattan and after a half dozen Bud Heavy pounders and a handful of poorly tied saltwater flies I had an epiphany—2 actually, however 1 is another story entirely.
I need to go fishing . . . my mental health depends on it.
Fortunately, the weather forecast for Christmas Eve was good. Good being a relative term, implying that I wouldn’t have to unfreeze my guides every cast and that the possibility of catching fish existed. The fact that I’d be dredging for 8-inch fish was irrelevant. I was out of the concrete jungle and had only an hour drive to my local spring creek.
The aforementioned scenario may sound like heaven to some die-hardfisherman and hell to other equally dedicated anglers. My theory is that these diverging views depend entirely upon how spoiled you are. My assumption is that you are going to be hard pressed to find a year round resident of the Keys willing to fish in similar conditions. I on the other hand have been dodging yellow cabs and unruly Times Square tourists all too frequently. Freezing my ass off and watching a bobber was downright sublime. . .