Tomorrow morning I depart on an epic adventure across the sea to parts unknown. Actually, no. But I am going to Bermuda, and I haven't been there before, so it is an adventure of sorts. Not knowing much about the place, I haven't any idea what kind of adventure I'll be engaging in, but you can bet my 9 weight flyrod, and a few new flies are making the trip with me. I expect I'll spend a good deal of time in the cockpit of a kayak too. An enjoyable way of seeing the coast.
The glossy print posters at the travel agency, though I'm kind of scared to admit it, have me secretly longing to dress in white linen, with a panama hat while duffing a round on a pristene golf course, cigar dangling from my lips. Yeah, I know. The thought makes my puke a little in my mouth, too. After all, cigars are to be enjoyed, not clenched in anger. I do liken golf to wingshooting. The way I see it, both activities have you walking around in beautiful scenery, and every once in a while you make a nice shot. The biggest difference; golf leaves no doubt as to how close you're miss was, wingshooters can still fudge the truth. "Really, I missed in front."
I doubt I'll have any trouble swimming up to the in pool bar, or enjoying the bar in the 100,000 year old grotto. No doubt I'll be faced with eating some interesting island fare too. This is, however, my first adventure which requires me to wear a sport coat at dinner.
On a less jovial note, a good friend, Tino, has passed into the unknown. Tino was a rugby mate of mine, and I'm proud to have been on the pitch with him at the Acton 10s last summer, as our rag tag team won the bowl division. Though the outdoors connection is vague, there is one. Tino was fixture at the kennel where I regularly board my dogs when travelling. He was good to my dogs, and thats enough in my book to be called a friend. I hope they're taking care of him now, like he took care of them. He deserves it. Rest In Peace, Tino.