A Fishing Tale

One summer on the Gunnison I learned to fly fish.

Learned is a loose term, lucky is more accurate.

I stood on the wing dam and threw out my line, praying for the best.

To my surprise, no bites were taken, they knew better than to fall to this beginner.

Later on, a timely cast found what I’d been hoping for, only I wasn’t looking.

This bastard rainbow trout picked a key moment. My back was turned, and he took a chance.

I pulled him in any way.

Got em.

Til he got to shore.

Don’t got em.