The world around here this morning is “mud-luscious and puddle-wonderful,” as a very good poet once wrote. It is indeed spring, and we are in the throes of mud-season. The melt-and-thaw cycles of warmer days and overnight freezes turns our gravel roads–and my driveway–into a deep, coffee-colored goo.
Trout season opens soon. Maybe I’ll make it and maybe not. The problem will be getting there.
A flatbed car-hauling truck came up over the weekend to pick up my wife’s car, which wouldn’t start. The truck bottomed out in the mud. It took another big wrecker to extract it, which generally made a hell of a mess. The car remains; it, too, stuck in the mud and no longer accessible to a recovery truck. Eventually, things will dry out enough so I can yank the car out and get it fixed. But for now, my wife drives my 4X4 truck to work, and I’m stuck, too. It’s a sorry tale.
I think all fishermen deal with mud at one time or another, since we of course fish around lakes and streams that are by nature muddy at the edges. So is Vermont mud worse then Wyoming mud? Having seen both, I’m not sure. Maybe Alaska mud is even worse. Is there mud in Michigan? I know there’s Mississippi mud, but only from the song.
So let’s hear it. Maybe your local mud is even worse than mine…