Back from vacation bruise-free

For the past week, I’ve felt like a fourth-grader on the first day of school. (For those of you saying that probably sums up my life in general, not just over the past week … well, you may be right. But bear with me).

Everywhere I go, people ask me one question: What did you do on your vacation?

But this vacation was different, folks. No plans. No commitments. No list of things to do. I winged it. Wung it. Whatever.

Instead, I opted for a list of things not to do.

And I’m happy to report that I succeeded (or is it failed?) on all counts. … well, almost.

First and foremost, I did not drown. (Seems like a foregone conclusion, since I’m sitting here writing this, but let me tell you, that’s the No. 1 vacation suggestion I received).

As soon as people found out I’d likely spend a good deal of time wading in rivers, trying to figure out how to catch fish with the fly stuck in the back of my vest and the fly line wrapped around my noggin, I heard one thing. … make that two.

“Have fun,” people said, before wrinkling up their faces, remembering my track record of mishaps, and tacking on a quick addendum: “Uhh … and don’t drown.”

Also on the to-don’t list: Don’t break anything. This includes bones (mine or those attached to others), equipment (fishing or golfing) and my trusty (so far) truck.

Don’t hit a moose with the trusty truck (this, I know, was largely up to the meese … err moose) … but the gangly critters and I somehow collectively avoided confrontations of the fender-bending kind.

Don’t get eaten or mauled by bears while camping beside one of those fly-fishing rivers you’re trying not to drown in (Again, mostly up to the bears, but since we theoretically don’t have the eating-mauling brand of bears in the Maine woods, I figured I’d be OK).

Don’t befriend any rabid animals (human or otherwise).

Don’t catch a huge fish while you’re by yourself, because nobody will believe you. (I was quite successful at this, and did it one better: I caught a tiny fish with all kinds of people around). And for those of you who want to know what the world’s smallest trout looks like, I can draw you a picture.

Don’t run so much that you suffer heatstroke. This was a tough one, and took extreme willpower, a lot of Oreo cookies, and a comfortable couch. But I succeeded.

And (this was the one I expected to have the most trouble with): Don’t bleed.

Those of you who have fished with me (or golfed with me, for that matter) are probably laughing already.

But I’m happy to report that I did not bleed. Not a bit. Not on vacation.

Of course, after heading back to work for two days, then finding I’d been scheduled for a midweek weekend, I pushed my luck and headed back to the woods to see if the fish that were hiding during vacation had showed up after I left.

So much for my to-don’t list.

Theories differ on how that No. 18 Adams fly got imbedded in my index finger. Some say I was careless. Some opt for the word stupid. Still others just laugh.

Me? Well, I figure I was becoming one with the fish. Feeling their pain, as it were.

And as soon as my hook-holes heal, I’ll head back to the woods to put my new knowledge to work.

John Holyoke can be reached at jholyoke@bangordailynews.net, or by calling 990-8214 or 1-800-310-8600.