Swing the Fly Issue 3.1 Summer 2015 | Page 10

every piece of warm clothing I can find. Sliding clumsily into my bag, I roll onto my back to discover piercingly bright stars overhead.

Lying there I wonder, “What the hell am I doing out here? It’s December, it’s ridiculously cold, and I don’t even know how to fly-fish.”

This fleeting thought makes me feel weak, so I push it from my head. I remind myself that discomfort is the starting block, the base ingredient for adventure.

No great story starts with the hero wrapped up in a Snuggy on a comfy couch sipping hot chocolate. I fall asleep attempting to revel in the moment.