So the next few months are going to be utter craziness as the Southerner and I take off for Montana for the summer to work and do some fly-fishing. The very fact that I can’t decide whether or not to hyphenate the word fly-fishing should tell you something about how little I know about flyfishing. At least I’ve seen and read A River Runs Through It. Brad Pitt is hot. He can fly-fish. I’m hot. I should be able to fly-fish too, right? I’m pretty sure Aristotle would approve of this line of thinking. At the very least, it slightly alleviates my performance anxiety.
What I’m most excited about is keeping you all informed about our adventures and hopefully getting some really great pictures in the midst of getting yelled at for not “casting my line properly,” or not “ringing my bear bell loud enough” or something to that effect. You have no idea how many books we’ve read about bear attacks. Yes, I know it very rarely happens and bears are our friends and they are more scared of us then we are of them, blah blah blah. When you read the story about the man who had a bear swipe at his forehead and all of a sudden he could run his hand UNDER HIS SCALP tell me you wouldn’t buy a bear bell.
When the Southerner asked me if I wouldn’t mind if his younger brother stayed with us for the first three weeks of our trip, I was like “Of course he can. He’s your brother and I really like him. But, more importantly, bears never attack people in groups of three.”
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