CREELING MEMORIES - Whipfinish - Feb 3, 2016
I stood on the bank and watched as he cast in the run, absorbed by the act of fishing as his upstream leg rebelled against the current that was determined not to allow him to reach any further in his waders. He held the rod high and level in an effort to guide his line through the seam he was targeting, when the telltale jerk of his left arm brought the rod back into a tight bow. The dance between rod and trout began as he slowly worked his way backwards out of the current until he was once again in calmer waters and could land the fish.
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