Since I'm considered crazy, here's another story proving it, pre-stroke.
In college, Bemidji State University, in northern Minnesota, friends and I were avid fishermen. Opening of fishing season in spring was the second weekend in May for walleyes and northerns.
My friends father normally organized a fishing get-together that weekend in the BWCA, when it was still possible to launch motorboats and get to campsites with no portages.
We drove there on Friday afternoon and canoed to the campsite late evening. We spent the whole day fishing with some success. By evening we were anchored in the channel next to camp. We pulled out our contribution to the alcohol supply, a gallon jug of red wine and downed that, fishermen next to us passed a bottle of brandy for us to imbibe. At dusk we decided to head for shore and the tent. Luckily it was only 20 yards away. I stumbled up the bank and crawled into the tent. In the middle of the night not feeling well I unzipped the door and puked outside. I did wonder what tent my friend crawled into since he wasn't in this one.
Finally saw him at breakfast, it seems he had fallen in getting out of the canoe and had spent the night on the shore. We set out fishing again quite desultorily, it was sunny and hot and we sat in the bottom of the canoe and pretended to fish, not sure how long it took before we even baited our hooks. And that is why red wine is not consumed much anymore.
No comments:
Post a Comment