So desperate in fact, that on a 48 hour business trip to Chicago, of which I had exactly three hours of free daylight, I spent an hour commuting into the city and two hours lingering in the local fly shop. The proprietors of said shop, simply enough called "Chicago Fly Fishing" (www.chifly.com), did not inquire once why a man would do such a thing with so little time. I liked them immediately.
I dillied and dallied. Perused and browsed books, picked through flies, shuffled through gear, and chatted here and there with the shop guys. It was as close as I'd been to the water since early October which was odd considering that I was surrounded by skyscrapers and a strange city. That just means that they're doing it right.
Elsewhere has also been good to me in the time off the water near home. This fall I spent countless hours on the soccer field with my son and his team and more hours at pee-wee football games as my daughter cheered them on, pom-poms and smiles. Another fall season where they'll never be this age again. I get to thinking, "The fishing can wait."
But not for too much longer and not without a new favorite cap.
Tight lines, all.
