Because of all this, I find myself wanting this day to never end, even though I’ve had little to no bites. I keep telling myself, “One more cast, just one more cast.” If I stay, those cherished memories will keep flowing through my mind. It’s a place I revisit every year at this time, unbidden yet unavoidable. As the sun begins to set and the air grows cooler, I keep murmuring, “One more cast, just one more cast.” But eventually, I know it’s time to go. There’s much to prepare for in the weeks ahead. Still, maybe—just one more cast. And then it’s over. The last cast has been made, and the season, as I know it, has come to an end. In the months ahead, I’ll dream of the new season to come. When the Bonito return, it will mark the beginning of a fresh chapter. The calendar will once again tick down the days until the last day of fishing, and more importantly, the final cast. That’s how the life of a fisherman turns —revolving around cycles of hope, memory, and the inevitable farewell.
Story By Captain Tim Wilson Editor & Chief
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