I’ve blogged for B.A.S.S. at the last 10 Bassmaster Classics, and while I still geek out on it, the boat rides scare the hell out of me. Between wind, boat wakes and general idiocy on the water, I assume that there’s at least a 42.8% chance that meet my eventual demise trying to track down some glitter boat chasing fishing immortality.
When I was 9 years old and my parents bought me my first subscription to Field & Stream, I was wowed by the idea that someone could get paid to write about fishing. At that time, unlike some of you, I had no clue that there was such a thing as a pro bass angler, so writers filled that aspirational target. I mean, come on, with a name like “Ted Trueblood,” more Hemingwayesque than that bestowed on old Ernest himself, how could the F&S scribes not inspire me to chase a life chronicling the outdoors?