I didn’t think much about swinging flies for steelhead. It seemed a passion for the insane – casting a thousand times for a single hook-up.
Having absorbed myself in the technique, I now find I’m consumed not by the opportunity of the catch itself – displayed via the Farcebooks and/or Twitlings of the angling world, instantaneous captures of self-gratification that now consume our angling environs – but by the simple pleasure of the cast.
In its own right.
I am once again lost. In defining the supposed skill it takes to deliver a package to a fish. Enticing said water-breather to accept.
Yet at the same time rejuvenated, by the simple concept of signing for it.
MG signing off (because the cast can be everything, no matter the size of the SD card)