The Tar Heel Outdoorsman

This past summer I returned to Wyoming.  I've finally gotten around to typing a word or two about it.  

The Toyota truck's odometer gained more than 1,000 miles in the days before and after Christmas. Rolling down both country roads and interstates alike.  Wilson to Creswell.  Creswell to Knotts Island.  Knotts Island back to Wilson.  Wilson to Wilmington.  Wilmington to Laurinburg.  Laurinburg to Charlotte.  And finally, coming full circle, back to Wilson on the day after Christmas. But almost as soon as we were back, we were gone again.  Now it was off to Belize.  We'd never really done a big family trip like this, and thankfully, there'd be some fishing involved.  With my brother, my mom, two of my cousins, and their mom, we'd be flying to Belize City, and then hopping on a Cessna Grand Caravan and flying half an hour out to San Pedro on Amber Gris Caye.

 It's truly a land held in by water, these inner islands and peninsulas and lowlands of Northeastern North Carolina. Through Creswell and across the Albemarle.  Past Hertford and over the Perquimans.  Around Elizabeth City and over the Pasquotank.  Into Virginia, and then across the Northwest River, followed by the North Landing River.  Down the narrow peninsula with Back Bay and Virginia's outer banks to the East.  Back down, across the border again, rolling down NC 615, through Mackay Island National Wildlife Refuge, and onto Knotts Island, jutting out into the Currituck Sound.  We are there.  Well, we got there, but a day early.   ...

The week truly began a day early.  Not Sunday the 18th, but Saturday the 17th. Opening day of the final split of duck season.

These guys have got it right.  Traveling the globe.  Fly-fishing.  Exploring.  Traveling.  Living the ultimate angling adventure.  If you haven't already, watch some of their episodes . Here's the most recent, from Brazil: