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Old 02-03-2015, 03:54 PM   #8
Glen
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Join Date: Sep 2005
Location: Amityville, NY
Posts: 1,155
So I've submitted my pictures, and here is my story:

After letting the varnish dry thoroughly on the bamboo rod I just made, I prepared to descend to the piazza, martini in hand (shaken,not stirred) to try some lawn casting. Several lovely sunbathing gals were admiring my technique when one said "My dad owns a nice cabin on a lake near here. Do you like brook trout?" I could barely believe what I was hearing. She got dressed and offered to take me over to try the fishing, unfortunately in that order. After driving through the most beautiful private drive we came upon the cabin. Well, she called it a cabin but it was more in the style of a great camp. After a brief tour she showed me to the boathouse where several guideboats were hanging on their bronze pulley contraptions. She insisted on accompanying me saying she knew the spring holes and that was the key to finding the fish. I did not object. After a short row, and another martini, we stopped in a sheltered bay and I opened my fly box. She suggested I try the "pretty red and white one" so I tied on the old Dr. Breck. On my first cast I landed a five pounder. She said try again, that was a small one. On my second cast a wind came up and on the forward cast I felt a bang on the back of my head. As I woke up on the floor I realized I had been casting in my sleep and fell off the bed. This always happens to me just before things start getting interesting....
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“Once there were brook trout in the streams in the mountains. They smelled of moss in your hand. On their backs were vermiculate patterns that were maps of the world in its becoming. Maps and mazes. Of a thing which could not be put back. Not be made right again. In the deep glens where they lived all things were older than man and they hummed of mystery.”
― Cormac McCarthy
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