feelin' sorry for myself...

growing up, hangin' in the outdoors, i learned my dad had quite the temper. i've seen him chuck tangled reels into rivers. i've held back laughter watching him shot put an entire rod and reel combo into a minnesota lake after a giant northern pike came unbuttoned. one opening morning he peppered our yellow lab's ass from about 50yds when the pup kept getting too far out in front of us busting pheasants.
now, for the most part, i've bottled up this trait when fishing. god knows it's been hard. i've had plenty of mishaps and frustrations. who hasn't? but that's part of the game, right? well, today i came as close to losing my shit as i can remember.
you ever have one of those mornings? you probably have.
i overslept. flipped a coin in my head...should i even bother? i missed the bite.
"aw, screw it, you'll kick yourself for not going", says the little voice in my head.
so i went.
8am, two hours later than i planned to start, i jumped in my waders, threw on my backpack, and hit the trail. my plan was to hike upstream 4-5 miles, then work my way down. it was monday. most people have real jobs, right?
the first couple hours were beautiful. the four miles went fast. heard some fish bust. stepped on some deer. kicked up some roosters. it was pleasant, to say the least.
i arrived at my spot. i was late. i knew this, but what the heck.
sadly, all the usual nooks and ledges were crammed with people. jet boats, drift boats, float tubes, mountain bikes, segways, and ufo's. it was unreal.
well, i didn't want to hike up any more, so i moved down and found a spot.
things went downhill fast.
as soon as i stepped into the water, the winds came. i lost my first two flies on consecutive casts into the same tree. finally got a third fly on and moved into position for my third cast.
my ankle buckled.
i'm sure it resembled a house cat getting thrown into a kiddie pool. instantly, i'm up to my neck in deschutes green with just enough air left in my lungs to let out a whimpering "fuuuck".
damn, that river is swift. and cold. and humbling. i was soaked. five miles from the car. oh, did i mention the wind?
still determined, i stripped down, laid out my top layers in the sun, told my 8wt to fuck off, and grabbed the spinning rod.
forgive me, i'm no purist, and i figured the D owed me a fish for this shitty morning.
i flogged the water, through the wind, freezing my ass off for the next hour, losing way more gear than usual. with the wind gusting at somewhere between 25 and 225 mph, my patience began to evaporate. every fisherman i passed on the bank had a steelhead or two strapped to their hip dangling in the current.
somewhere around 11am, i gave the river my frozen middle finger, packed up, and dragged my soggy ass back to the lot.
to make matters worse, the guy parked next to me had a 38 inch steelhead laying next to my car. yeah, he taped it.
at this point, i figured the only thing that could cheer me up were a couple mc ribs at the mc donalds in the dalles.
but they were sold out.
so, the beatings will continue until morale improves.