What Drives me to stand in the middle of a raging river in dead of winter?
Something that most find archaic.
What propels me to hike two miles in to the stream alone?
Which most would find a fools errand onto it's self.
Where do i find the patience in a modern world to evade and stalk or tie fly's for that matter?
How can my mind be clear when at the mercy of the wild?
Yet when in the safety of an office my mind cluttered.
How is it that i fear my fellow man more then I fear a wolf and enjoy the company of trout more then conversation.
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