The Fly Fishing Guide

It was just before dawn as I strolled through the fog to discover the one that I sought resting on a log. Through the mist and early light I struggled to see as the man stood up and slowly turned to me. I approached where he stood and looked into grey eyes That despite their age seemed somehow wise. A glance at his hat revealed a tan Tilley Endurable making a sun grizzled face seem all the more amiable. His worn wading shoes were made with a Goodyear welt and for the slippery rocks had soles shod with felt. His hand was outstretched from a shirtsleeve of wool the handshake was firm with a strength that was full. He smiled seeing my graphite fly rod by Fenwick I saw all that he carried was an old split bamboo stick. He said “The cutthroat will give your rod some good work.” as he motioned to follow with a wave and a smirk. Tied to the dock was a green float fisherman’s dory Whose scrapes and dents told a long traveled story. We pushed into the stream as we welcomed the sun I felt trust that he’d show me a whole lot of fun.