A few years back, my uncle stood with my cousin and me on the banks of the Brokenstraw Creek that ran through Youngsville. He advised us to fish for trout in the bend where it gets deep. He had given us similar advice before, but what struck me was how he punctuated his advice. "You boys oughta float some night crawlers where the riffles begin to even out." Boys. There I was a thirty-something man with three kids so appreciative to be called a boy.
Once upon a time, I hired a boat captain to take me to an island in the South Pacific so that I could camp there over the weekend. I was prepared or so I thought. I had goggles and canned food. I had my snorkel and disposable camera. What I didn't have was a can opener that worked or bug spray: the lack of both the cause of my quick undoing. Soon enough, I took my sunburnt body to the shore, wadded into the clear blue water, and began swimming to the nearest passing boat, thinking all the while that riptides and sharks don't exist. It was the second time I was almost deported from Australia.
Interesting
ReplyDelete