The Last Dance

Last year I was not able to go to Lake El Salto in June. Don’t pity me too much. We’d gone either in May or June for six straight years, and due to upcoming trips to Alaska and Brazil I knew that I wouldn’t have enough vacation time to do all three. Therefore Hanna went with friends and I stayed home.

Not too big of a deal. I’d be back in June of 2020.

Not so fast, partner.

This week we found out the ban on non-essential travel between Mexico and the United States has been extended beyond the date that we are supposed to be there next month. Personally, I’d argue that the annual trip is “essential,” but I wouldn’t expect that to get anywhere. We’ve rescheduled for November, but there’s no guarantee that’ll happen, either. Right now, we are floating on a layer of uncertainty, trapped in a cloud of doubt.

As Hanna and I felt our lust for travel increasing, so much that we started a website about it, that world closed in. But I refuse to think that our plan was flawed. In fact, it’s actually the perfect time to start a site about traveling. Our theme at Half Past First Cast is to make the most of each remaining fishing day, and a reminder that nothing is guaranteed is the greatest lesson of all. It’ll force us to appreciate more, be present more often, and enjoy every sandwich (or taco as the case may be).

I’ve written before about the concept of the “Last Fishable Day,” and now it means more than ever. If your last day on the water turns out to be your final day on the water, would you have spent it the way that you’d wanted? If your last “trip of a lifetime” turns out to be the last trip you ever take, will it have met your goals?

My last such trip was a 50th birthday expedition to Guatemala, and three months later I’m still riding the high. We caught lots of fish. We caught big fish. We were treated like kings and queens. Perhaps most importantly, even though billfishing isn’t quite in my wheelhouse, my parents – non-anglers to the core – got to see me with a smile plastered on my face for five straight days. That trip did more for our relationship than years of therapy, a common interest or any other contrived circumstance could have accomplished.

I’m hardly a sentimentalist, but the new goal is to have a smile on my face at the end of each trip, whether it’s whacking sailfish or watching a bobber for bluegills. That way I can achieve my long-held goal of a life well-fished until the end.