The wake-up call rang at 3:45 on Sunday morning.
From my 44th floor window, Canal St. was still a neon flow of people swarming from one street corner to another–some hotel-bound, some still hustling for the decadence of Bourbon St. My eye opening, new gear lusting, friend making, cajun food eating, Abita beer drinking, fly rod casting, flip-flop wearing, sore back cursing, sweating like a stuck pig four day tour of the International Fly Tackle Dealer Show was coming to an unmerciful end. A 6:15 a.m. flight is a sonofabitch.
I’ve got a pretty good amount to write about from the show itself. About the connections and new friends I made mostly. Some gear and other things that I was impressed by as well. But I figured I’d start with a few meager pics from the other show that was going down around any given corner at any given hour of the day. There could be hundreds more, but sometimes you just get caught in a stare. It’s probably just as well.