Pretty fly for a white guy

Hello there and welcome back from your weekend. I know, I know – always the bearer of bad news. Had the pleasure of going on my first fly fising expedition yesterday (or any kind of fishing expedition). This was courtesy of my FBIL (future brother-in law) who is blessed with both a love of fly fishing and God-given patience that didn't make him strangle me with fishing line when I lost his wooly bugger. So what was my big catch? Well, I know fisherman are prone to tall tales, but I'm proud to say I hooked a 180-pound Caucasian journalist (he was a feisty devil and it took forever to get that hook out of his T-shirt). I also managed to snag a large boulder but, alas, it got away. How great would that have looked on my wall? Almost as good as a co-worker's suggestion I mount my T-shirt in the den. Nevertheless a great experience that I'm anxious to try again but perhaps with lesser expectations. As my FBIL aptly put it, "They don't call it catching. They call it fishing" Couldn't have said it better myself!