Resurrection

It appears that a follow-up is in order.

In response to your hundreds of concerned emails (well, Jim B. did write to inquire of his loaned headlamp), I’m happy to relay that the reports of poor Troy’s demise were greatly exaggerated. He awoke on the 2nd in a seedy motel just outside of Clayton, smelling of Vapor Rub, sewage, and Shalimar. He conveniently claims to have no memory of the previous 24 hours.

While we’re thrilled with his resurrection, it does bring to light some serious credibility issues with regard to the originator of last week’s fishing report. But then, dear reader, you already knew that.

The good news is that Troy recovers quickly from such episodes (practice, of course, making perfect) and was ready to get back on the water. We whacked a couple-hundred white bass in a short three-hour stretch (no April Fools joke, I swear, it was silly), laughing and joking and retrieving our two-inch chartreuse-and-white clousers from the lips of fish after fish as if nothing had happened the day before.

And you know, my friends, it's quite possible that nothing had.

But then again...