I'm on the longest leg of my trip to Tennessee (which is to say I'm still in the airport after running the oh-so-dignified gauntlet of check-in and security), and because my flight's been delayed more than an hour (and aren't I glad I got up at 4:45), I'm enjoying the Disney-esque ambiance of yet another tiny airport terminal.
In case you haven't been in one lately, allow me to refresh your memory: airline terminals are designed to be so uncomfortable they actually make you happy to risk your life on an airplane. This one's so crammed with people that I'm developing a lot of empathy for what hatchery trout endure on a daily basis (another argument for the elimination of the hatchery system).
Let's be blunt - I didn't move to a remote part of moutainous Northern California because I love rubbing elbows with humanity as a whole, and while the surly youth across from me wearing the "US Keg Lifting Team" hat is probably a friendly enough guy, I know I'd like him a lot more if our kneecaps weren't knocking every couple minutes.
Ian called to let me know the dry fly fishing's been awesome the last couple days - a hell of a carrot compared to the stick of a 6,000 cfs Upper Sacramento... See you in the security line.