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I JUST HATE IT WHEN… By Chip Chipman
I forget my lunch. I forget water. I forget anything. I tear an expensive pair of waders on barbed wire. I tear my shirt on barbed wire. I tear anything on barbed wire. I lose my forceps. I lose my net. I lose anything. I get tangled up in yards and yards of mono that some bozo just left on the ground. My favorite stream is littered with “sportsmen’s” trash after a major holiday weekend. I wash and dry my pants without removing my wallet and my fishing license is a bunch of confetti. My rod guides ice up. I break a rod. I drop the fly I am trying to tie on and can’t find it. I drop my fly box into a rapidly moving stream. I drop my net into a rapidly moving stream. I drop myself into a rapidly moving stream. Clipping the tag ends of a surgeons knot, I instead cut the tippet I just tied on. I get caught in a thunderstorm with a graphite fly rod in one hand, a metal wading staff in the other while wearing wading shoes with the titanium spikes. And, most of all, I just hate it when I can’t go fishing.
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