My fly-fishing buddy Wade sent me an email several months back. He was wondering why I haven’t made a blog post since September. Yes, September.
“I haven’t seen an update on your blog in quite some time,” he wrote. “You must have had a few things to write about after a fall of chasing ducks around?”
Two weeks ago Wade sent me another email, asking me if I wanted to take a trip to the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness in Ely, Minnesota, where in year’s past we’ve canoed and camped and, most importantly, fly-fished for smallmouth bass, those freshwater street fighters of the piscatorial world.
I’ve been remiss in not returning Wade’s emails, and I’ve been remiss in not responding to some of the many dispatches—emails, letters, phone calls—that I’ve received over the last several months from readers wondering why I fell off the grid.
In the last eight months, I’ve had four surgeries to repair a detached retina in my left eye. Forgive me for playing the sympathy card, but this entire ordeal has been as pleasant as gargling a cocktail of battery acid and antifreeze.
