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The Tug Drug...


Conor

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My draw to the water seems to ebb and flow with other aspects of life. Some days, the draw is simply time alone. Then, once alone, all those aspects of the beauty of the sport-which have for the most part already been spoken of, kick in.

 

However, the one constant seems to be "the one that got away." When I first started fishing, this was a spot of anxiety and frustration. Now it is simply a moment of wonder and curiosity. Its not a matter of "what did I do wrong" and "what should I do better next time" but rather, I wonder what he/she looked like. Was it one of those beautiful golden browns or a beat up 'bow. Perhaps an elusive pike or bull.

 

All in all, nothing truly needs to act as a means for "getting me back to the river" because I'm always there in my mind.

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