Here Come de Judge

Yesterday, out of the blue, I was asked to judge the annual writing contest of a regional outdoor writers association. I won't say which one to preserve anonymity (I can see it now... bribes of bamboo rods, bird dog pups, engraved fly boxes rolling in daily...), though its members are widely published.

How did this happen? "We stumbled across Find the River," the man from the writer's association said when he called yesterday, "and we said, by God, that's our judge!"

OK, stop snickering.

Actually, in the past, I've done some volunteer work with the VP of the association, and she remembered that I teach environmental rhetoric and writing and that I have some passing acquaintance with the outdoor sports. So she called and I jumped at the chance. It is an honor, though it's also going to be a lot of work for no cash. I wouldn't be surprised if a number of other people had previously declined the honor. All the same, I'm looking forward to reading the entries and tapping lucky writers for big modest cash prizes.
I can't say I actually dreamed of doing this, though it is like a dream come true for someone who read Field and Stream obsessively as a kid. I can dream retrospectively, can't I?