Watching a hefty fish battle my 6-weight fly rod, I chuckled at my good fortune:
“Sometimes it pays to be the old guy.” The first to exit the campfire ring and march to my sleeping bag the evening before (at a still bright 10:30 p.m.) I awoke before anyone at 5:30 the next morning. That was partially because the Alaska sky already beamed bright overhead, and partially because, well, this 50-something doesn’t sleep like he did 20 years ago.
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