It had to be right there, here, within a few feet of us. Slurp. Finally I got down on my knees and sighting along the river's surface, looked under the brush to the far shore. There was a three inch space under the dense growth as though precision cut by a huge shear. Perhaps winter ice tore off and carried away everything below the high water level. Slurp. As I stared, I saw the head nod up to a rise. It was a fish. More than that, it was a big fish, for that little water. A big, purposeful, and very secure fish. "Joe, there's a BIG fish under there!" Joe began to chuckle. He knew little enough about fly fishing but he knew that ten feet back under a three inch space was secure enough. "There's no way to get him", Joe said. "We might as well go." Suddenly I was possessed with an impossible, adolescent thought. "No, Joe. I'M GOING TO CATCH THAT FISH!" I hadn't the slightest idea how. "I'm going back for the rod." Joe began to laugh in earnest, caught up in my craziness. "Let me get a chair. I've got to see this." I got the rod and my vest. Joe grabbed a lawn chair, then rummaged in the refrigerator for some french bread, salami, and his gallon of wine. He took a front row seat even as I approached the water again. I still hadn't the faintest clue. The fish was still feeding confidently. I surveyed the whole river carefully. There was really only one possible solution, however improbable. The huge, wide curve in the river was laid out as though precisely scribed by a pen tethered miles behind us. Both the flat water running down the gradual curve and the protective bushes extended out of sight upstream more than a quarter of a mile. Somewhere upstream there had to be a break in the bushes. But how far? I began walking upstream. I walked around sunbathers, through a football game, skirted picnickers with dinner laid out on blankets. The curve continued, precise and unwavering. Periodically I would crouch down and survey the underside of the growth. One single twig extending into the water's surface would stop any attempted float of a fly. The unseen shears had been impossibly exact. Soon I was above the limits of
									More Text =>
			<= Back
		Table of Contents				Fishtales Start		Order/Contact