So there I am. In the rapidly fading sunset roughly 85 miles southeast of a city in New Mexico that I’ve never been able to spell, straddling a six-foot sheep fence on wobbly legs and a cramping left foot with three strands of needle-sharp “bobbed” wire mere inches...
Ugly, shaggy, wide in the hips, quarrelsome, six feet tall, prone to grunting, sneaky as the cagiest Appalachian gobblers, with spurs that can rip down steel fences and a brain the size of a small walnut … no, not your mother-in-law, but potentially a new game...
If Hell was cold, wet and windy, it would probably look a great deal like Volcano Bay in Alaska’s Aleutians. But in one of those lovely little touches of irony at which God is so devilishly good, if Heaven was made just for fishermen with a sense of adventure,...