The mental gymnastics started about a week ago.
Spend the 50 bucks or so to fill a tank with gas. Burn it all off in a 250 mile, 5 hour round trip drive to a river. The drive has never bothered me. Five hours is nothing when most is done on roads where every few miles you stop, pull out the map and make sure a turn wasn’t missed. No annoyed driver laying on a horn behind you because there is no one behind you. Possibly for miles.
Years ago it cost barely 25 bucks to fill that tank and do that same trip. Now it’s hard to justify that extra amount, for fish. For the remote possibility of a fish. But there’s also a remote possibility of a 50 to 100 fish day. Still hard to justify when the pinch of pennies seems more practical.
I like to think I know of remote places near home. Where no footsteps are seen along river and creek beds.
But off in the distance a motorcycle goes by or a car with a loose muffler. Not seen, but heard and slightly disturbing. Doesn’t last long, but the daydream is gone, start over.
Out here, no roads. Only the one in. As far as I know. I’ve never heard one off in the distance. Round a bend and the one is never heard.
The canyon walls, the walls of trees and the wall of blue nullifies everything. Silences all but the birds near by. The sound of water, from the hush of a run to the singing in the riffles, lulls the brain. I lose my balance standing still when that happens. I lean toward little sounds.
I believe I’ve convinced myself of what I need to do.
I need to pull from my pocket a wad of bills that add up to over 50 and be done with it.