That unspoken question as heads appear coming through the trees or sagebrush, faces either somber, or smiling, or even smirking. You try to read their evening's experience from their eyes and mouth, even from their walk, and wait a second to see of they cannot contain themselves and will began telling their stories spontaneously.
"Well, how did you do?"
Now, your companion might be dry as a bone, collected and relaxed. He might smile softly and settle back into a chair. "I had a very good evening", he might say. "They were kind of fussy about taking a caddis until the wind stopped, then I got into a hatch of little mayflies and there was a good rise to them. A #14 Adams worked just fine until I either caught or put the rest down. I finished up the evening with a big humpy I could see in the shadows, and they were taking it every other cast or so. All in all, a good evening."
Or, alternatively, your companion might come crashing through the brush as though pursued by demons. He might be dripping from hair and hat, and slogging gallons of water in the legs of his waders. His rod may or may not be in one piece, but in either case, his mind has unquestionably been sectioned.
"Jeezus Christ", he yells as soon as he sees you. "You should a seen 'em! Fish as long as my arm! Everywhere! Right off, in that spot you sent me to this six pounder broke me off, clean as
a whistle. I fell in trying to take up the slack when he ran straight back at me. Went right through my legs, I swear. Say, you didn't tell me it was ten feet deep getting around that brush pile. Didn't matter anyway 'cause I was already wet. I didn't have leader strong enough to land any of 'em until right at the end. I was down to my last fly and this MONSTER fish gobbles it and heads for the Columbia. I see my
