I asked Dave to check the next morning's weather on his little smart texting do-dad before we left the shop yesterday. He looked at me like a teenager looks at a parent when they discover the jars of spices stacked neatly in the microwave. I don't know what they are called. I must have dropped off the technology wagon right about the time of electric coffee grinders. But I still prefer the wooden ones with the big black grinder handle like the one my aunt Kay used to have. I remember her utilizing any of us children as child grinding labor at a moments notice. I did not mind...I just pretended the coffee beans were my prisoners and I was some sadistic Walter Mitty. Dave said they were calling for rain, cold and wind down on the flat lands and it sounds like good stay at home by the fire type of weather.
Nope. That sounds like pike fishing weather. With no chance of company.
No company other than that of the woman who tied the flies, packed the lunch, made the coffee and drug my old, complaining ass out of the warm bed well before light, that is... So, it was fitting that it was me who had to take photos of her pike and not the other way around.