More of the Fragments series. When reading back through old travel journals I regularly stumble onto things that shine a light into the dusty dark corners of my "self." Here's a handful that do just that, whether I like it or not.
The truth is too precious to be beaten to death for such trivial narratives. I might forget some things or the facts might not quite fit the point, so, for expediency, I’ll just make them up. But don’t worry. They’ll be true enough. - McAllen, TX, May 2014
“What do you do?” I’m never sure how to answer that. I’m retired? I fish? I write, though not professionally or seriously? The real answer is probably “I do nothing” but that’s harsh, both as a response and a confession. - Anchorage, AL, August 2015
Destination fishing trips only seem real while I’m in them. Not before. Not after. They’re a slice out of time, completely disconnected from the bulk of my life, but they teach me a bit about my life. Each trip seems to have a lesson. What lesson will this one bring? - Dillingham, AL, August 2015
Saturday night sick. Too many Kaliks, too much fried conch, a splash (or three) of Kahlua on ice. It all didn’t mix. Sat hugging the toilet thinking “What if I die here?” I seem to have that thought often on these trips, though seldom for this reason. - Abaco, Bahamas, February 2016
Headed out for Box Canyon. Snowing. Wet, nasty snow. Two weeks ago I was in the Bahamas, standing on the bow of a skiff under brilliant blues skies and warm, tropical breezes. At home, today, it’s 85. What the hell am I doing here? I know where I belong. And where I don’t. - Last Chance, Idaho, April 2017
I’ve decided that I’m not a particularly entertaining fishing partner. An observer rather than a participant, if that makes any sense. - Beaver Island, MI, June 2017
My father was the next thing to a hermit but on rare occasions he loved to be out. To visit. He was the life of the party but often in ways he did not intend or recognize. He was a one-off but did it with great enthusiasm. I suspect that I’m more like him than I'd care to admit. - Pittsboro, NC, date unknown
Lesson #3: Pack duct tape. I always break something. - Craig, MT, April 2017
Note: My thanks go out to my big brother, Chris Hunt, for the image at the top of this post, taken as we kicked around in the light surf off the back porch of the house we rented just outside of Nassau back in 2013. In truth, I have much, much more to thank him for than that. Get back on your feet soon, bud. There's more fishin' to be done.
9 comments:
These quotes are so 'you,' my dear. They are insightful and nourishing. Feel free to share some more.
Live Free ...
Well, if anyone could see the me in them it would be you, my dear. Thank you for putting up with it.
I'm getting there, my friend... by July, you won't know anything every happened to me. Unless I make some shit up.
What self-respecting writer would just make some shit up?
Passing thoughts, revisited, are often the most revealing and important. Thanks for having the discipline to capture them... and then to share them.
Thanks Bob, though being accused of having discipline is not something that happens very often. Hope all is well with you and I look forward to some catching up in September.
“...the next thing to a hermit.” Insightful, and I can totally relate to that. Enjoyed this entry greatly.
Funny, Kirk, how we can be so "out there" via our blogs, et all, and yet be so reclusive. I find it an interesting dichotomy.
It is a an odd bird, this psychology thing. I call it being social, on my terms ;)
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