I had a weird dream last night. I dreamt I turned up at a favourite spot on a river and there was a tackle shop on the edge of the stream, not a dingy one but one that was full of important looking people in Orvis and Sage shirts – people that looked like they knew what they were doing. There were rows and rows of expensive looking rods and a stags head on the wall (strangely there was an inflatable comedy sized guitar in the corner of the room but it was a dream so made perfect sense at the time).
They were charging around £100 for a days fishing with a guide – and there was lots of people who professed to be experts on this particular river. I only wanted to fish I told them – however I was told there would be no way I would catch a trout as I did not have the specific fly that all the guides were using that week.
I looked at the river where I once found solitude and watched rows upon rows of anglers all casting with the same fly.
I went home.