My main challenge at the moment is the heat. Down here in the South, it’s hot. I mean they have a different kind of hot than a kid who has spent his life between the latitudes of Utica, New York and Hoboken, New Jersey is accustomed to. I mean like dripping-sweat, can’t-escape-it, am-I-in-an-oven heat. Everything black on my jeep is somewhere between scalding and melted between the hours of 10 a.m. and 5 p.m. I can’t say for sure without an autopsy, but I think a stickbug I found on the hood of my jeep died from heat stroke. You can blast the A.C. for twenty minutes and wonder how you’re still hot. If you’re so hot you want to jump off the boat, think twice, the water temperatures are around 90 degrees in some of the Florida bays I’ve been fishing. There are nights when you put the pedal down, thinking there must be an edge to this heat somewhere, and if you go fast enough you can find it, but you can’t.

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