NO ANTIVENIN REQUIRED
No. 81
I’m immune to poison ivy. It’s one of those odd blessings that’s been useful my entire fishing life, though never more so than in the summer of 2017. What I’m not immune to are stinging nettle and briers, and by August, despite my best efforts to cover up, my hands, ears, and the back of my neck had enough thin, red, scabby lines to look like a road map. I’d macheted my way into all manner of bogs, creeks, and backwaters, often only to end up with enough casting room to throw a frog 30 feet in one direction. Most of the time that frog went untouched. Occasionally, a wake would race toward it, my pulse would skyrocket, and a northern snakehead would thrash…
