Now is the in-between time. It’s no longer really summer but fall is not yet here. The fishing is as good as it’s been all year, but for me at least, it’s like a good bowl of tobacco in a favorite pipe. It started off well, full of potential and excitement. There were a few hiccups along the way, a little burble in the shank, probably due to the moisture that has stoved into the hills for what seems like weeks on end, and has had a soggy effect on the fishing too.  The mid point was strong, tasty and full of moments of pleasure. A few times I was greedy and puffed harder, trying to demand more from the sweet smoky leaf, and as always, I got bit.  Now near the end my tongue has grown weary, and the flavors, while still present, have fallen victim to my own fatigue. I’m going through the motions, only occasionally surprised by some level of texture rather than taste. 

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