trunk. She was about 22, brunette, and as spotless and flawless as the 450SL. And SHE was in one big hurry. Nothing else existed but her mission. She reached into the trunk and threw out a fully inflated float tube to bounce in the dust, then waders, vest and boots. She pulled out a leather rod case and quickly tipped out and connected a two piece Orvis bamboo rod, tightened on the, inevitable by this point, Hardy reel, and strung it up. She then hesitated a second in thought, staring absently at the hills behind me, and with a half shrug to herself stripped off her pants down to lace panties, long brown legs climbing from the gravel to the end of time, climbed into the waders, tied on the wading shoes, leaned into her vest, hitched up the float tube, plopped in the water, and drifted downstream out of sight. Gone. 120 seconds flat. Gone. Lace panties. Gone. She knew something I didn't know, probably many things I didn't know, something downriver. Gone. I sat on my tube long after all the air had gone out, staring east and downriver where the last current tail had carried away that vision, questions still hanging on my tongue. Did I just see what I just saw? And what was her hurry? Late for a secret hatch downstream, meeting someone, or maybe just having 90 minutes to fish? Only her Mercedes sitting there in front of me testified to the reality of the vision. X-wife-#1 stopped reading her book, rolled down the window, and asked from above me, "well, did you enjoy yourself?" I almost blurted out uncontrollably, then froze, catching myself. Was this a trick question as so many had been that day? Did she mean the fishing, or the panties and the legs, or the independent, focused, highly motivated, perfectly equipped girl/woman flyfisher? I got up and rolled up the float tube and began putting gear away. "Yes", I said, shedding my guilt for the first time that day, not caring where it went. "Yes I did." Even 90 minutes of fishing is better than none, and a real fantasy is better than a fantasy fantasy. Yes, Siggey missed it about fly fishing. But that one was enough to separate the boys from the men. Trump Doyle McKenzie Flyfishers November 1989
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