Social media was getting away from me—everyone knew I was chasing muskies and seemed to assume I was catching them. Random people began to contact me for advice on rods, lines, and flies. How long before I slipped from beginner to poser? How many “musky trips” could I go on without catching a musky before I had to stop calling them “musky trips”?
Soon I would have to either quit musky fishing or take it underground. Well, that, or catch one. I knew—had to believe—that more time on the water was the only thing that mattered. But my mind had begun to theorize in wild and superstitious ways. Was I wearing the wrong fleece pants under my waders? Holding my mouth wrong on the retrieve? Was I being punished?
Friends kept telling me I was “due” for a fish. But that’s not how it works…
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