I Came. I Saw. I Overpacked.

There’s a certain kind of joy in packing for a fishing trip — the kind that only the hopelessly optimistic (or mildly obsessive) can understand. You start with the basics: a few rods, a couple of lures, a cooler, maybe a rain jacket. Then comes that voice — the one that whispers, “What if they’re hitting topwater? What if it rains sideways? What if I suddenly decide to camp an extra night and need my backup coffee press?”

And just like that, your tailgate becomes a carefully engineered puzzle of gear, snacks, and backup plans. To the untrained eye, it looks excessive. To you, it’s strategic genius. Because packing isn’t just about preparedness — it’s about possibility.

We overpack because we like to imagine the trip going a dozen different ways. Maybe it’s a sunrise bite on the frog, maybe it’s a lazy afternoon cleaning bluegill off the dock, or maybe it’s a rain-soaked memory you’ll laugh about for years. Every extra lure, every spare reel, every “just in case” jacket is a tiny vote of confidence in all the ways a day outside can unfold.

Sure, we could probably leave half of it at home. But where’s the fun in that? The act of overpacking is a ritual — a celebration of anticipation, imagination, and the belief that the next cast, the next day, the next trip could be the best one yet.

So yeah, we overpack. Not because we need it all, but because we might.
And that “might” is exactly why we go.