THE INCITING EVENT usually looks like this: I sit at the edge of the bed, listening to Prairie Home Companion, packing my bag. Every once in a while I raise my head to steal a glance of a topo map.
Despite my best efforts, I hone in on a particular stretch of stream. A little yellow blur catches my eye from the corner of the room. It’s my fly rod again, leaning stiff in the corner, waving line at me like a handkerchief in the fan’s breeze. My waders are there, too, and my techpack.