One fish, two fish, red shoulders, no dish

This weekend I did what any respectable Harrington transplant does when the sun's out, the breeze is mild, and the fish haven't yet filed a restraining order against me: I grabbed my fishing gear, my wiener dog, and hit the great outdoors. Somewhere between Odessa and Harrington-coordinates redacted because a girl never gives away her secret fishing hole-I set off to finally catch the fish that have eluded me all season.

But let's start at the beginning.

Saturday morning kicked off strong. Winnie (my four-legged child and celebrity in these parts) and I took a three-mile jog/walk around town....