Your fishing buddy says “Dude, every time I looked over you were hooked up.” Every time you looked over at him he was hooked up too.
At one stretch you bring five fish to hand that would make many anglers green with envy. You did it in five successive casts.
Several strangers linger within eye shot and you catch at least one pointing over at you. Soon they seem to just disappear.
You’re standing forty feet apart, hitting a lot of doubles. So often in fact that you can no longer be bothered with pulling out a second net.
Fly-fishing isn’t supposed to be about numbers, but you tally up the weekend score between you two anyway. It’s in the triple digits.
MG signing off (because he still cannot believe it himself)