We say goodbye to the week, to our bosses, wives, husbands, friends, relations. We head for water, for warm air or cold rain, to solitude and awareness. We leave it all behind for chance, a gamble, a shot at connection. All the crowds, the bone jarring dust, mud, chill, luke warm java pre-dawn light can't keep us from saying yes. Yes for a chance to exit from the brush onto another world, a world known to the Bear and the Elk and the Otter. For after all, we are Hunters, and the weapon of choice is a stick, some string, and some feathers tied to a hook. The time always passes to quickly, hours like minutes, ending around a fire in snapshots of our lives. It helps dull the flame, the burning, untill the next time you think of that certain River, that certain pool, that certain fish. It is how passion is fed, it is how we justify this life, it is the gauge we use to hand down the stories that make those fire reflected faces nod and smile. Pour a bit out for Sunday, the "day of rest".