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Fellowship of The Trout - Part Two

Started by otter, November 13, 2012, 04:57:39 PM

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otter

Hank almost choked on the cold coffee, son of a Water Dog (otter), what the hell will I read to-morrow morning. I'm gonna PM William and find out when he is going fishing again. Maybe he will take a few pictures at Turners Cross.

Job done, hank eagerly awaited Williams reply.

Hi Hank, thanks for the PM.
I am actually going out for a full morning and evening session on tuesday. Would you care to join me ?
Will

Would I heck as hell what, whey hey, yippee, hank did a dance on the coffee table......

When Hank had calmed down he realised that there was no way he could get there by Tuesday, crestfallen he sent a PM to William and dumped a large whiskey into the coffee.

Not a problem, Gabby and the kids are away the following Monday and Tuesday and believe it or not Wednesday, that would give us three days on the river.
Let me know if you can make it.

William

Hank's check list was easy
Tyres – Okay
Petrol Tank – Full
Coffee & whiskey Supplies – Good
Sat Nav - Online
Food for man and Dog –Check


Hank whistled, Come Rascal we are going fishing and we got us some driving to do. All aboard the Hankaye express. Rascal wagged his tail excitedly and jumped onto the passenger seat, peered out the windscreen and barked loudly. Hank inched out on to the main road and turning to Rascal he whispered, "We gotta do a little apologising before taking to the highway , southeast Rascal , you know the way. The RV rolled to a stop, Hank opened the door and let rascal out. Leaning out the window, Hank made peace with the San Pitch, "See ya later, don't let anyone catch that 2lber till we come back"

Okay said Hank, "lets go Rascal". Rascal wide eyed, stared at Hank with that , " ain't we going fishing look"
East rascal, we are going east on a fishing crusade, just you , me and this trusty RV. Hank had often dreamed of doing something like this and the thought of casting a fly at Turner's cross was too cool to turn down.
Heading South towards the I-70 Hank decided to pass the time by doing some river spotting, when he reached sixteen , he turned to rascal and winked, "After this trip, we are going to catch a trout from all them rivers and many more as well".

Hitting Colorado, Hank started to have second thoughts, there was a long road ahead but as much as he loved Rascal there was only so much conversation one can have with a dog. The answer was obvious, I wonder he thought, would he be interested. Dubbn's answer was swift, "Sure will hank, already packing my kit. Rascal was a little put out when Hank stopped to pick up Dubbn on his way through Colorado, but when Dubbn threw him a doggie biscuit friendship was instant. Hank turned to Dubbn, best fishing story gets first cast at Turners cross. The two intrepid anglers laughed and as the miles passed so were the stories swapped. Rascal buried his head between his paws, he knew his friend was telling more than one or two white lies.

Their journey was not without incident and they did meet a few ladies on the way, but that's another story and what happens on the road as they say, stays on the road. "Can't wait to see the look on William's face when two arrive instead of one", said Dubbn, Hank laughed, " three, when he sees three". Sorry rascal, forgot about you said Dubbn , fondly rubbing rascals ears. No said Hank, " Three, we are picking up Dougsden on the way".
"Holy chit, William will have a heart attack, he has a whole heap of river sharing to do", thought Dubbn.

Dougsden had enough rods, flies and equipment to fill a separate RV but somehow they managed to squeeze everything in, particularly as he had some very special whiskey that just needed to be drunk. The nearer their destination they got , the quieter they all became, each lost in their thoughts of their expectation's of fishing Turners Cross. Sensing that they were all thinking the same thing, Hank made a bold move, " Off course you guys don't mind if I get first crack at the inside riffle". Its yours Hank said Dubbn, "but you only get one cast then its my turn".

"Then mine ", whispered Dougsden, and it will be my first July trout  .

Sunday morning, Dougsden farted loudly; it was his way of waking the other two. In unison the intrepid warriors awoke from their slumber, stretched their aching muscles and announced their awakening with a chorus of equally loud farts. "Christ, that curry carried a lot of punch "said Hank as he rolled down a window. All three laughed as only children do at such juvenile behaviour.

Hank glanced at the sat nav, googled on his laptop and whelped, "We should be there this time to-morrow". Rascal barked as though he understood the reason for Hanks excitement and was in agreement.
What arrangements have you made asked Dubbn. Hank looked at Dubbn and Dougsden sheepishly, "errrr, I kinda left in a hurry, but I have his mobile phone number, I'll errr , I'll give him a call later"
Dubbn, disappeared into back of the RV and could be heard rummaging around and talking to himself. Finally ne reappeared holding a thumb vice, some partridge hackles, a few hooks , wax, pearsalls orange silk and a scissors. Time to get in the mood he said as he inserted a hook in the jaws, "we will call this one a P&O roadie, Hank get these hackles ready".



After a few aborted attempts and a few choice comments on Dougsden's driving skills Dubbn carefully laid down a few wraps of thread, took the prepared hackle , tied it in and continued down forming the body , stopping at the barb and back towards the eye. That's when the argument started, Hank preferred to stop at the point and was not afraid to say so, he solidly backed up his argument delving deep into history, throwing up famous names and famous books. Dubbn like a great boxer, counter punched, matching each blow with a few famous names of his own. Dougsden moaned , fearing his companions may come to blows such was the strength of their conviction in these matters, " Lad's , I prefer stopping half way down the body " he said timidly, kinda Tummel style. "Tummel bloody style, you watch the road and we will tie the fly" said Hank. Work away you contrary old fart, said Dougsden laughing loudly, "but you won't catch me fishing one of them monstrosities".

Dubbn decided that distraction was the best method of sorting out a conflict, " lads, do you think a little bit of dubbing at the thorax would give this P&O it's roadie style. Hank and Dougsden relaxed , nodding in agreement, the war was over, for now. Hares ear, opossum, rabbit, or squirrel, suggested Dubbn, "any preferences ladies." . Hank, still annoyed over the body length, took the scissors, reached down and snipped some fur from Rascal, cut it into tiny pieces and placed it on Dubbn's knee. "Take that you old vulture and tie up 3 of each body length, we will each fish a cast of three flies , with one of each body length, before this trip is over – AGREED ? ".

And so was born Rascal's P&O Roadie. Well satisfied with his work, Dubbn laid the fly's on the dashboard for all to admire. "Nice whistled Hank, not bad work for a washed up son of a mule".

Dougsden stayed quiet for a while, then nonchalantly enquired, "Where's the gold wire rib". 

They say a dog becomes like his master, unfortunately in this case it was in reverse. Hank yelped when a text came through from Willam.

" Hank, are you gonna make it , Will"

Responding as fast as he could.

" You betchya, where can we meet. Hank"

" Sending u sat nav co-ordinates for Turners Cross, I'll be there 9AM 2 morrow. Will"

The three amigos keyed in the co-ordinates and reckoned they would just about make it.

Pulling off the main road they got teasing glimpses of a river through the trees. The road slowly deteriorated into more a track than road and as the RV rattled over humps and bumps poor Dubbn struggled to stop his whiskey from spilling. In the distance they could make out the shape of a pick up and all too slowly it took form and they could see William setting up his rod. Dubbn and Dougsden disappeared into the back of the RV.

Parking beside the pick up, Hank quickly hopped out and went over to William. "Welcome to Turner Cross Hank, that is some trek you have made", said William as they shook hands. Hank blubbered , "I can't believe I made it , I have never been so excited in my entire life, Jesus, I could cry". William smiled, " are your friends a little shy", he enquired. "Friends" said Hank, trying to look a little puzzled, wondering how the hell William knew he was not alone. " Dubbn and Dougsden", I presume said William, "I got some errrr, special friends ,with special skills and access to some damn fine hi-tech stuff. We have been tracking your RV all the way from Utah, and you guys are very entertaining ".

"You guys smell like sewer rats", said William as he warmly shook their hands, "are you ready to rock and roll".
"Ready, I feel like I have waited all my life for this day, said Dubbn. William leaned against the pick up, finding it difficult to control his laughing as his guests rummaged for their gear in the RV, tripping over each other, scrambling into their waders till finally they were nearly fit for purpose, they were as ready as they would ever be. Standing to attention William took a picture of each of them in turn



Leading them through a small wooded area they soon came to a nice stream, " There you go lads, Turners Cross River, ain't she a beaut"



Hanks jaw dropped in disbelief, , Dougsden damn near fainted - thousands of miles of smelly socks to fish this.
Hank thought, we will skin that bloody Otter and use his fur for dubbing.

"Look " said William pointing to two square yards of water near a bush, "thats the inside riffle, Hank should give it a go first".

Hank looked at William and nodded, " I think will only fish a single P&O ", trying to be sarcastic without being downright rude.
"That should be perfect", said William, "now hurry up , we haven't got all day, theres mile upon beautiful mile of this"
"Careful Hank, it could be deep in there ", shouted Dubbn. 

If looks could kill then Dubbn would surely have been turned to stone with the look he received from Hank. Digging deep Hank turned to William, "looks lovely William, where will I get in". Taking Hank down to the old footbridge, he advised him to get in there and wade slowly up to the inside riffle keeping as low a profile as possible. Hank slid down the bank carefully and slowly made his way upstream trying to concentrate as best he could under the circumstances. The inside riffle looked nothing like what Otter described and the water barely reached his ankles. Getting within casting distance Hank tried to envisage what was required but his heart was not in it. The cast was over estimated and the P&O landed in the bush. He could hear Doudgsen laughing upstream and with his tail between his legs he waded across and retrieved his fly. "If there was a trout there he is long gone" said William, "bad luck , you are probably a bit stiff from the long trip".
"6000 miles "squeaked Dubbn, "6000 miles and you catch a bush ,"

Come lads, we will head downstream, there's a nice pool for you to see if you can do any better Dubbn announced William. Hank put the P&O back in the keeper ring, scrambled up the bank and followed on downstream. Dejected at not alone the river but his failure to make a simple cast he decided that he was going to make the best of things even if the catch of a trout was an unlikely event. Rounding a bend, William took them well back from the river , then rejoined it some 100 yards downstream. Looking upstream William pointed to a nice looking pool some 20 yards long. Nice looking if you were a goldfish thought Dougsden. There Dubbn, this is one of the best pools on this stretch. The three amigo's all sighed quietly, their enthusiasm evaporating with each passing moment.

"Wow", said Dubbn, "that sure is one heck of a pool William, how would you fish it". William looked at Dubbn and in a very serious manner he suggested that he try a nymph under a dry New Zealand style. Good idea said Hank, "Hey Dubby, make sure the nymph is well weighted, a three or four millimetre bead should do the trick". Dougsden whispered to Hank, " 3 or 4mm , that would pull the arse out of the river". Hank smirked and shouted, "Dubby, make sure you duck on the forward cast, we don't want you knocking yourself out with that bead. "All right Hank, bushmaster san , I get the message, I can't do any worse than you, can I ?"

Dubby, formely know as Dubbn tied up his cast, selecting a Deer Hair Caddis as the dry and a very subtly weighted hare's ear nymph size 16. Dubby climbed down and silently entered the water and commenced casting with no more than 5 yards of line outside the top ring. Covering the water very carefully with short drifts he worked the dry instilling subtle life into the nymph. So impressed were Hank and Dougsden at the obvious control that they soon actually believed that he would catch a trout, silently they watched his progress upstream, all eyes on the dry.



On what would be nearly his final cast on the pool the dry twitched ever so slighty, Dubby raised his rod simultaneously as Hank screamed in total excitement " take Dubby, you got a take". The rod bent solidly , soon however the pressure began to tell and his catch slowly yielded and came to the surface. " Damn fine piece of stick said Doudsgen laughing uncontrollably, " looks like the branch master has an apprentice". William helped Dubby out of the stream, patted him on the back and genuinely told him that no one could have fished that pool any better. "Let's go lads, time to find Dougsden a trout" said William, " I know just the spot".
"Bet he does ", whispered Hank to Dubby, "but not on this bloody excuse for a river." A rabbit eyed them from the edge of his burrow, Hank could have sworn that the son of a b was giggling.

They followed the river downstream for nearly a quarter mile over some tricky terrain , very tricky in the case of the three amigos whose tempers were quite frayed. Dougsden was lost in thought, trying to remember all that yoga stuff he had tried all those years ago. He tried some breathing exercises but had to cease when Hank told him he sounded like a dog in heat. Dougsden stopped dead in his tracks, he looked straight at Hank and said " hey Bushy, if i fail at the next pool take your best shot, in the mean time keep your woody mouth zipped.". William , allthough a short distance ahead grimaced as he listened to the turmoil of the three amigos. He wondered how much more they could take, still it was not his fault , it was the lying paddy's exagerations that had enticed them to make the trip, Looking back he said " not far now Dougsden , we will soon get your waders wet". " They are already wet" replied Dougsen, "from wetting myself laughing at bushy and his apprentice , bring it on whatever you got planned for me".

The pool was as promised much more fishy looking than the last two, a nice riffle emptying into a long pool of some 25 yards. A few rocks tempered the flow in the pool , creating some nice oppurtunities for good trout feeding lies. Unforunately the deepest spot looked no more than two foot , maybe two and a half feet if you were an optimistic soul. Bushy and dubbn looked on in envy as Dougsden half slid, have fell into the pool. A bow wave sent shock waves the entire length of the pool. "Nice stealth ninja D", said Hank in his best Bruce Lee accent, " did that take many years to practice". "That should wake the residents up, what do you think buffalo bill", said Dougsden turning towards William.
It looked like the gloves were off , everyone was gonna be fair game for comment and ribaldry.

Dougsden reached into his fly box, closed his eyes and the first fly that pricked his finger was then attached to his leader. When the rest looked at his setup they were simply speechless. The fly was about a size four adorned with a bead head the size of a marble, the leader was about 3 foot tapering to a fine 1x. It seemed as though the rest of the world had frozen, as though the gaze of every living thing was fixed firmly on Dougsden. "Dougsden looked at his audience, " I w'ont bother with any practice casts. "Thats the best news I have heard all day", responded Hank. "This should be good, very good ", whispered Dubbn.

Dougsden let 3 yards of line and leader downstream and lobbed it forward, immediately lifting the rod, jigging the whole lot up and down with enormous swooshes of the fly rod. And so it was lob, swoosh, jig up every yard of the pool. After a few yards Hank collapsed on the ground hardly able to breathe, it was all too painful to watch.
On the fourth jig after the eighteenth lob something strange happened, something splashed on the surface and the audience gasped. " Christ almighty, he has caught one, the sob has caught one " , said Hank as he rose to his full height of 5ft 6". All eyes now on the battle. " My god, look at the size of its head", said Dubbn. The fight lasted all of thirty seconds and as Dougsden lifted the rod the dirty big toad found it very difficult to do a breast stroke, particulary as its butt had been pierced by the size 4 hook. " Major surgery, i hope that hook is barbless". said William very seriously. Dubby walked to the edge of the river, looked at the toad, looked at Dougsden and declared like a boxing promoter, " Ladies and Gentlemen, in the red corner weighing in at 12 stone 4 oz and wearing green waders, I give you Dougsden THE FROG HUNTERrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr".

The Frog Hunter released the hook, the toad looked at the Frog Hunter and hopped away quickly. Frog Hunter snipped of the fly, carefully replacing it in the box, turned to William and said, " that was awesome, what's next ".



William looked at his assembled guests, each face pleading with him to show them some decent water. Lads he said, " I can assure you that Turners Cross River has more decent trout in its waters than you could hope to catch in two lifetimes. Its all about confidence and technique and I know you doubt me.". At that William opened his chestpack, took out an envelope and offered it to Hank. "Hank, all these fish came from Turners Cross". Hank opened the package, revealing more than twenty photo's, each showing William or his net holding some very pretty trout and all of very respectable sizes. All three stared at the photos, full of admiration of these fine trout and also a little envious of the angler that caught them. "Okay William, you have made your point, we will follow you to whatever pool without any further moan or lack of interest.

Great said William, " I must make a call to Gabby, back in a moment". William returned in a few minutes, "Sorry, real sorry lads I have to rush home, something urgent has come up and will not be back until to-morrow, follow me quickly". He led them off on a path through some trees, twisting this way then that way. About fifteen minutes later they came to a fork in the path. William stopped, when the three amigos finally caught up with him he said, " Okay I am going this way, you go that way, there is some nice water very close by. This path that I am taking leads right back to your RV. If you have any problems call me, and sorry. With that William headed away and before any could reply he was gone.

Bushy looked at the others, sheer despair had overcome them. "May as well take the path " said Dubby, "We ain't got anything to lose". So slowly they followed the fork for a few minutes and then entered a clearing. In front of them loomed a large rock and through a gap in the bushes behind it they could make out some water. Walking on they came to the river and all gasped with shock. In front was the most beautiful of rivers, wide , vibrant and plenty deep. Looking upstream to their right close to their side was a tiny riffle. "Holy Chit said the Frog Hunter", its, its ,its the inside riffle just as Otter had described it". And there said Dubbn turning around exictedly, " its the rock seat". He ran over to it , sat down and groaned with pleasure.

Soon it dawned on  the amigos that William had been leading them on a merry dance. "I will give that SOB a hug next time I see him said Bushy, after I punch his nose first"

"Well Bushy you may as well get that punch out of the way now ", said a voice from behind them. There was William grinning from ear to ear and beside him another angler. Lads this is Bill, Bill tie2fish, he is equally responsible for the little charade that we prepared for you this morning. William was completely different from the man they had met earlier, warm , engaging and full of fun. The amigos quickly relaxed and introduced themselves to Bill as Bushy, Dubby and the Frog Hunter.

"So Dougden, you are the mighty catcher of Toads, I hope you are equally as clever with the trout", said Bill.

Bill opened his pack and took out three small wooden fly boxes, each engraved with a name. Handing one to each of the amigos, Bill told them that he and William had a busy week at the vice.

Bushy squealed with delight as he opened his, row upon row of the most magnificent spiders and flymph's and softhackle's. On one side many instantly recognisable patterns , Partridge Series, Snipes, Woodcocks, Waterhen Bloas, Greenwells, Stewarts, Williams Favorites, Flymphs from Hidy and Leisenring. On the other a selection of William's and Bill's , some tried and tested , some waiting to be tried.



"So that's one of them Llama flies "; said Bushy , extracting one from his box and holding it up to the light; "nice Bill, very nice".

Amazing how complete strangers can seem like lifelong friends when they share a common passion. Conversation flowed , each angler discussing the flies, their history, tying techniques, their own experiences. William was a fountain of information and inspiration and held the amigos spellbound with tales of great fish at turners cross. Bill laughed, " he is all theory, lets see if he is half as good as Otter's online William".

A splash mid stream interrupted their conversation, followed by a second. All faces turned and viewed the river, they had almost forgotten that they were there to fish. Aagh said Bill, "The hatches are starting , what are are doing here nattering like a flock of old hens".

"Come lads, I know a few nice pools downstream "; said William winking at the amigos, and this time he was telling the truth.

Hank playfully nudged Dougsden, " C'mon Froghunter , grivvvit, grivvit lets do some whooshing and jigging." "William, Bushy was wondering have you got a saw with you", replied Dougsden.

William and Bill led the way downstream, their intention was to go about a mile downstream leaving plenty of water for everyone to fish and be back at the rock seat around 6pm. Being a lightly fished river the going was tough, some doubling back , detour's through wooded areas. No one complained though, what a focussed little group of anglers, a far cry from the comedians that fished the stream in the morning. "Hey shouted Dubbn, "Is that Buffalo Bill and Wild Bill Hickock up ahead?". "Could be "; sniggered Bushy, "them is mean looking hombres." All along along their route they encountered enormous clouds of insect life, Caddis were everywhere, dancing in the bushes, skittering across the water surface, one even tried climbing into Williams ear much to everyone's amusement.

Wild Bill fell back and chatted to Dubbn, outlining some of the water they were about to fish. They were going to concentrate on the broken water, that's where most of the action would take place and where they were less likely to spook the trout. Bill like William was a stickler for detail, it showed in his flies, his choice of clothes, his rod. Everything about him indicated that he was first and foremost a trout hunter, a pleasure angler second.
Bill liked fun and his attitude belied his age, but when it came to discussing fishing Bill was quite serious behind his light hearted way. He explained that he had fished Turners Cross for at least ten years and rarely fished anywhere else. This was his hunting ground and he knew it intimately. He understood it seasons and its moods and knew where and when to find the trout. Bill did not boast, he had simply applied himself to gaining the knowledge required to be a successful trout hunter and by applying it to a single river he was a master of his craft. Dubby listened without comment, nodding occasionally, enjoying listening to a passionate angler.

William finally came to a stop, surveying the water in front he suggested that Bill and Dubbn start here, he would take Hank and Dougsden further down to the next piece of water and fish up alternating stretches.
"Tight Lines , Dubby "; said Hank, " best fish gets the first whiskey". "Tight lines to you guys as well" replied Dubbn and stay out of the bushes my friend.

Bill was in command and Dubbn like an obliging pupil listened intently. "I suggest a simple rig, caddis are hatching but not in great numbers yet, a large dry caddis emerger with a single pupa about 3 foot underneath should tempt a few trout. We have a lot of water to cover so I will show you some of the best spots and ignore the less likely stuff. There is plenty of time to-morrow to do your own investigations", said Bill.
Dubbn surveyed the water, not quite content to be a pupil he turned to Bill. "Bill I appreciate what you are saying but I make a poor passenger, I'll do my own driving and if I crash , I crash. On the rig I do agree , it should work fine , but mine will have a dropper with a light pupa and a weighted one two foot deeper, it's the way I like it." Bill nodded, appreciating Dubbn's independence; they would get along just fine.

The riffly water looked real inviting, every part of it suggesting good fish holding water. It was agreed that Dubbn would take the far side, Bill the near. Bill knew that this was tricky water, water that it took years for him to learn where even the average trout preferred and so he started to tell Dubbn the best spots. Dubbn immediately cut him short, " Bill, I don't mean to be rude, but lets see if I can read the water myself, its as much fun as catching, ain't it ? ". And so with the ground rules set they started fishing, Bill half heartedly as he was more focused on his companion.

Dubbn waded across and up through some nice looking water ignoring it completely, this took Bill completely by surprise. Ahead was a small run no more than two foot wide, flanked on his side by some weed and on the other by some really fast water. Angling himself at about 50 degrees to the stream he commenced casting, dropping the dry just of the edge of the weed and the pupa out and into the stream. This was tricky stuff, get the cast wrong and any chance of fish is gone. After the first cast Dubbn realigned his angle to about 40 degrees and set to work again. After a few casts he tightened into a solid trout that tested his leader as brute force was necessary to hold it out from the weed. Well done shouted Bill as Dubbn held up a well spotted trout of about
18". Both anglers fished on up the riffle taking many trout and when they met at the top. Bill offered his hand , "Well done Dubbn, you read that water like a book".

Sitting down to rest for a few moments , Dubbn looked at Bill with a big cheesy grin on his face. "Bill, I need to confess something, but you have to swear not to tell the others, at least not until I say its okay". " Agreed", said Bill.

You reckon you have been fishing this river for ten or so year's, well my new friend , I fished it at least four times a week for nearly twelve seasons and would have stopped only a few seasons before you started, circumstances forced me to move elsewhere. I know this river like the back of my hand, no better than the back of my hand. Reaching into his wading jacket he withdrew a little plastic bag, it contained a small whiskey flask and a photo. Handing Bill the photo , he uncorked the flask, poured a small drop into the river, took a sip and handed it to Bill. In the photo was a much younger Dubbn holding a very large trout. " 34 inches he explained, an epic battle of wits that took four weeks before success finally came". Bill sipped from the flask, unable to reach for the right words and could only say "WOW".
Dubbn laughed, " that whiskey was a 25 year old malt when I put it in the flask, and its been there all these years just waiting for this day." A solitary tear rolled down Dubbns cheek, he turned to Bill and thanked him for helping make an old anglers dream come true.



Old, old laughed Bill loudly, " your'e only a pup".

As they made their way downstream William teased Hank and Dougsden on their earlier performances. You probably won't believe me but that little stream does at times hold some nice trout, its just a little low at the moment. Another six inches of water and it can be very enjoyable to fish, I sometimes walk down as far as I can and wade up without leaving the water. It can be a welcome diversion after weeks of fishing the main river.

"You sure got us going Will, I was ready to start the RV and point it west, looking at that river we may stay a month"; Hank was bubbling with excitement. Dougsden, was quiet, he enjoyed the stream, and the main river looked very daunting. William noticed this and in a quiet manner tried to raise Dougsden's confidence. We will wade upstream together , Hank on the left , me in the middle and Dougsden on the right. I won't fish and will point out the best water.

It was agreed that they would fish a team of soft hackles , work up quickly covering the water without any pressure and simply enjoy the moment, they would be plenty of time over the coming days for more technical fishing. "I'm more used of moving downstream and swinging the wets, how do I fish upstream", said Dougsden timidly. William unhitched his cast of flies, let a few yards of fly line out of the tip and commenced casting up and across, letting the flies drift back and at the same time raising his rod tracking the flies back down. Simple as that, let the flies drift a couple of yards and cast again. "Looks easy when someone else does it ", said Dougsden.

The first ten minutes seen all sorts of calamities, tangles, Hank letting one drift get slightly below him ended up with a P&O firmly attached to his wading jacket. On a couple of occasions Dougsden's back cast came perilously close to William. With the utmost of patience William coaxed his guests and soon both anglers were casting and fishing with a nice rhythm. As they progressed upstream William gave them a master class on reading the water, showing them where the best feeding lies were likely to be, other spots where trout are inclined to lie quite dormant but could be occasionally tempted with a deeply fished nymph. He pointed out some slacker water where on windy days the trout would cruise picking easy meals from the meniscus, this he explained was his favourite type of water as the opportunities were un-predictable but truly rewarding.

A few trout were bulging at the surface, taking pupa high up in the water column surmised William, turning to Doudsgden who at this stage was covering the water very nicely and brimming with confidence he suggested that the next trout that showed within range that Dougsden should drop the flies a yard upstream, lift the rod almost immediately drawing the flies to-wards him ever so gently and then dropping the tip and repeating once more before casting again. "Okay , Obi Wan "; said Dougsden, " I will give it a try".

The team landed gently and as instructed Dougsden commenced his manipulations , but a little too robustly and the flies came back downstream. William instructed Dougsden not to cast again until the trout showed and this time to do the manipulations a lot more gently. They were lucky, the trout had not been alarmed and bulged again, this time Dougsden was a lot more gentle and soon the trout bulged. "Lift , lift "; shouted William. The small trout quickly came to the net, the Woodcock and Hares Lug had done its work.



Dousgden was thrilled, his first trout fishing softies upstream. William explained that natural caddis pupa can move quite a lot in their attempts to reach the surface, often rising and falling small distances before finally emerging. This he believed to be a strong signal to the trout and often turns failure into success. William knew that if you understand the behaviour of the trout's prey then you will be a better angler than those that don't. "It ain't rocket science "; said William "but it is overlooked by a lot of fly anglers".



"You are on your own now, time to look after Bushy"; said William as he moved across the stream.

"Howdy stranger , thought you had forgotten I was here " said Hank as William approached.

"That would be difficult seeing as you been thrashing the water to a foam, all self respecting trout are hiding away in their bolt holes"; joked William.

"Guides, just ain't as mannerly as in the good old days, them was real guides back then, would even wipe a mans arse to keep their client happy", Hank was on a roll now , enjoying the fishing and the banter, this was the way it meant to be. "You can't be totally useless though, I see The Front Hunter managed to catch something with fins".

"You done okay without my help"; said William, "three tiddler's of your own".

Hank smirked, he was well pleased with his efforts, three to the net and one other hooked, not bad for a new kid on the block. It was great to be out with new friends though it felt he as though he knew them for years.

"Missed one there, nice fish too "; said William staring intently at where Hank had just cast. Hank look puzzled, he had not seen any indication of a take, " I ain't falling for that one ", he replied. "No, Seriously, a trout took, would you like a small tip ", said William. Hank eyed William looking for some sign that he was winding him up, but William looked serious so he replied " Okay William , what am I doing wrong".

"You ain't doing anything wrong, but you have too much fly line out. Strip back in a few yards and see how that goes"; William offered.

Following Buffalo Bill's advice, Hank covered where the trout was reckoned to be and seeing a slight shift in light pattern near his tippet he lifted and was rewarded with solid resistance. This was no tiddler ,a solid trout of some 14 inches, fat belly and full of vigour, this trout was in prime condition. "Howdy trout, Well I be a hot dang diddly old donkey, that sure was fun"; Hank was as Hank usually is, happy out.

See said William, " I used to think all the old wet fly men were magicians, but its down to simple common sense, good sun glasses and good concentration. I will often fish at angles to the stream that are less than optimal for presenting the flies, preferring to use the best angle that allows me to see where my flies are drifting. No good getting takes if you cannot see the signs. Get that angle right and a few tricks in your casting will get the flies on the right track."

" Jeeez William you make it sound so simple, thanks pardner, whoa , frog hunter is into a whopper"

William , tied on a cast of two of Bill's llama flymph's and a Woodcock and Llama spider, waited till the other two were well ahead. Flicking his cast into every likely spot he quickly took trout after trout all to the Woodcock one. Nearing the top he snipped of the killing fly and placed it alongside some others in his fly patch, the rest returned to the experimental box. Not bad he thought , another hundred or so trout and Bill can claim it to be a good one, gottta tie up a few later.

Hank and Dougsden were deep in conversation when he reached them, both glowing from their success and eager to recount each trout in fine detail.

"Anyone need their arse wiped before we move on up ", asked William. He need not have bothered as his friends scrambled out of the river, eager to be first to the next pool. " C'mon junior shouted"; Hank, " stop slowing us down" 

"Sons of Bitches , he thought, "they are sure gonna sleep well tonight" 


William checked the Rloxe  as he entered the clearing, 5:30, they had done well. He joined Bill and they both witnessed the hollering and whooping of the three amigos as they discussed the afternoons events. "Christ, dubby is a fine actor, he is really putting on a show for the others"; thought Bill.

"Aheem" said Bill trying to get their attention," time to get some food". As Bill slipped into the river, William explained that they restricted themselves to killing two good trout each season, usually about a pound and a half as they make the best eating. This was a special occasion and two trout were required to celebrate the fact that they were indeed hunters. All eyes fixed on Bill as he waded carefully to midstream, dropped down about thirty yards, crossed slowly back to their side , inched forward and stopped.

He drew out his tippet, opened his fly box, tied on a small black fly and degreased his leader. Like a heron he stood there for what seemed like an eternity. Finally he raised his rod into a back cast, coming forward in a wide open loop his leader dropped featherlike onto the water surface, As it came back downstream , in one motion bill tweaked his fly line and moments later he lifted into the finest trout they had seen all day.
The gallery were mesmerised, though William did shout down to him "Show off".

Bill smiled as he netted the trout and called up, "Just to prove I am the better guide , how about dubby tries for the second trout". Go on dubby, show us what you can do , Hank started pushing a reluctant Dubby to-wards the river. He held his hands up , " Okay , Okay, anything for a laugh, what size do you wan't William". " Just catch a trout , if you can, dear dubby"; responded Dougsden. "These guys are probably starving"; said William, " hmmm, a three pounder should do, setting dubby an impossible task. " Any fish shops around ? ", replied dubby sarcastically.

Dubby waded out, meeting Bill mid stream, winked at him and started wading downstream. "Jeeez"; shouted William, "it gets real deep down there as I found out more than once. Dubby continued down , zig zagging , retracing his steps a few times, he was almost out of sight and they could not follow as the bank was a maze of thorny bushes. Slowly he inched across to their side. "If he ain't back in five minutes I'm racing down to the next pool"; William was genuinely worried. They all sat down watching the river, not a word was spoken. Bill struggled to stop himself from grinning but somehow he kept pokerfaced. Emergency services are an hour away he whispered to William. Just as William was getting real panicky the silence was broken by a loud thud as a trout of damn near three pounds landed at their feet..

Coming up the bank was Dubby grinning like a Cheshire cat, " Will that do ?".

Bushy gave Dubby a huge bear hug, "thought we lost ya to the river you crazy old fool";

William , looked at the trout, looked at dubby, looked at Bill, looked at the river and for once in his life he was entirely speechless.

Dubby took out his flask, poured a drop into the river, offered it to Hank , and said " I think I have a little confession to make.............................."     

Rascal whelped with delight when Hank returned to the RV. He leapt out and immediately surveyed his surroundings. Cocking his leg at the first bush he commenced marking out his territory, finally ending at the wheel of William's car. Returning to Hank he raced around Hanks legs shaking his tail excitedly. "Howdy, Rascal, how was your day ? , now don't go chasing any rabbits, do ya hear", Hank was delighted to see his friend.

Dougsden disappeared into the RV and re-appeared a few minutes later with five pewter tankards and a large bottle of whiskey. "Got 6 of these as a present many years ago, can't think of a better time to wet them".
Dougsden filled the tankards. " Jeeez, Frog hunter, take it easy, that ain't beer you are pouring in those tankards"; said Hank slapping Dougsden on the back. " If you are man enough to call me a Frog hunter, you are man enough to drink this small drop of whiskey" said Dougsden as he raised his tankard in a toast. "To Buffalo Bill and Wild Bill Hickock, the best god damn guides on the planet...... and to friendship, salut". Dougsden downed the whiskey , raised his tankard upside down and said " anyone with a drop left does the wash up".

William cleaned out the trout and headed for the stream to give them a wash. In the meantime Bill took a small smoker from his car and readied it. "This is a mix I made up my self, Oak chips, Cedar Chips, Thyme , Parsley and a pinch of cinnamon, Bills smokn dust, I call it. The taste of them trout will bring tears to your eyes "

Bushy was already licking his lips in anticipation . "Hey bill, do ya reckon them trout will taste better than frog legs, I know where there's a fine toad with a few fat legs on him".

William had neglected the first rule that a trout angler learns , never ever leave your fly box unattended. Dubbn finding his box lying beside his rod, opened it and transferred most of the flies to a spare box he had with him.
He would have fun later.

The smell of the smoke had them gathered around the smoker, like flies to cow dung. Hank, kept asking, is it ready yet Bill, is it ready. Rascal had already made short work of the heads and tails and sat obediently at Hanks feet, anticipating more morsels coming his way. William was just starting to pour the Blanton's when they heard the purr of an approaching vehicle. "Hope it ain;t the Sheriff ", said Hank. All this wild west stuff with Buffalo and Wild Bill allied with too much whiskey was starting to cloud his thinking.

"New York plates aint the local sherriff, must be the FBI "; Dubby thought himself hilarious as he guffawed loudly, whiskey at work again. "Christ , it is the Sheriff " , whispered Bill as the stranger emerged from his car.
"Let me deal with him, he is a contrary son of a bitch"; Bill walked over to the stranger and talked quietly for a few moments. Finally the stranger raised his voice for all to hear. I hear ya bill, but I gotta do my job, the law is the law. With that he walked over to Hanks RV, walked around it , examining it carefully, taking notes in a small pad he had taken from his shirt pocket.

"Can the owner of this here RV please stand up", said the stranger in a drawling loud commanding voice.

"That would be me" said Hank as he stood up, staggering a little from wary limbs and too much whiskey", " What's wrong he sniggered."

The stranger glared at Hank, "Something funny I said ?". " No, No sir said Hank, I do apologise, too much whiskey Sir", showing the stranger the half empty tankard.

In the last few days this vehicle has broken every law in this state and a few more states as well, can I see your licence sonny. Hank shook as he tried to retrieve his wallet from inside his chest waders. Fumbling awkwardly he handed the licence to the stranger. " Hank"; said the stranger looking at the licence, "you are looking at spending a few months in one of our friendly jails you son of a bitch."

Hank was dumbfounded, what had he done wrong, this must be some great big mistake.

The stranger started writing furiously in his pad. This was all too much for Hank, " Look here Sheriff, what am I being charged with".

" Impostering sonny, you are being charged with impostering a Fly Fisherman", the stranger guffawed so loudly that Hank thought he was talking to a mule and god knows through his whiskey glazed eyes the stranger even looked like a mule.

The stranger stuck out his hand, " Willow, Willowhead's my name and having fun with ye western folk sure beats sex". The blow from Hank caught Willowhead right between the eyes and he sunk like a stone. "Chit shouted Bill , don't give Hank anymore whiskey"



Willowhead lay spread eagled on the ground, eyes closed . As the onlookers started to panic,he opened his left eye and winked at them and burst into a huge grin. " Are y'all just gonna leave me lying here"
Concern soon gave way to gut wrenching laughter , William stepped forward and helped Willowhead to his feet. Hank simply stood there staring at his fist, then sheepishly gave Willowhead a hug and apologised.

" Dances like a butterfly, stings like a bee    , Hank , zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz, .... Last time I got slugged  ...way back ...... ouch  , about ten years ago outside a Jazz club in LA..... had a little ole argument with the doorman  . .. bout a dame, well we had a few beers after, turns out he was a mean fly tier... sent him a real jazzy artistic fly afterwards  ... had a few beers with him a few years later down at Sow Bug, boy could he throw a punch.."   

"Rocky    ", he said pointing at Hank, you gotta eat some more steak if you are gonna go round slugging officers of the law   . Got chased , ...... Chicago 1987... on tour with a crazy band  ....man those Chicago cops don't take prisoner's............ spotted my vice in the back of the van, well you know how it goes, he tore up the ticket.... cost me a nice cape though.....    "

Doudgsden offered Willowhead the sixth tankard, full to the brim , "Hope we don't get anymore guests, this is the last tankard". Willowhead laughed, " bottle does me fine , downed a bottle of Kentucky, after long tour in 92..... slept solid for four days afterwards...  didn't wake to have a hangover......man that trout does smell good  "

Dig in lads said Bill, offering each a fork, ain't got no fancy plates, just some bread and these trout.
"Bewtiful Bill, never tasted anything so good, must get some of that there smokn dust from your"; Dubby licked his lips, then grabbed the smoker and start licking it. Easy, dubby said Bill as they played tug of war with the smoker. With well filled belly's , calm descended and soon thoughts turned to fishing.


"Was planning to do the evening rise ", said William, " might give that a miss to-night, too much Whiskey, Willowhead might like to see the river and a good walk will clear the heads". "Buffalo Bill for president, Can we fish, Yes we can, maybe, some of us, but not to-night", Hank definitely needed that walk

The river looked amazing at sunset, lengthening shadows and the glow from the setting sun made for a magical setting. Clouds of BWO spinners danced over the water, dipping, laying their eggs. "Wow, look at the BWO's";exclaimed Hank. Everywhere they looked trout were rising. Hank, Dougsden and Willowhead simply could not believe that a river could hold so many trout and wished they had not opened the whiskey so early.

After a long walk they returned to base camp. Bill turned to Dubbn, "What do you reckon, 5AM". Dubbn took a diary from his jacket, flicked through its pages and quietly said 4AM start, need to in position by 4:30"
Bill and William nodded in agreement.. With that Bill took out his portable fly tying stuff. " Nice bit of kit"; said Willowhead, whistling in appreciation. Laying down a nice base of orange thread near the eye of the hook, Bill paused. " The plan is to fish the slacks early morning where hopefully we will find some really big trout mopping up the spent BWO's, this is one pattern that works quite well, if you are a die hard softie you can try a greased up small P&O"

Bill stripped off some natural CDC and lay it pointing over the eye of the hook. Cut of the waste and then tied in Coq De Leon tails, splitting the tails, then dubbed the thread lightly with a rusty coloured mix. He dubbed the body backup to the base of the CDC and with some figure of eights he split the CDC into a cruciform shape. Satisfied with the wings he lightly dubbed the thread and did a few more figure of eights before tying off at the eye and finally using his thumb nail cut the wings to the desired length. An hour and a half later Bill had tied about 8 for each of the anglers, 2 orange, 2 rusty, 2 red and 2 light olive.

"Mighty impressive tying Bill, might impressive", Doudgsden had watched every turn of thread as he sat sipping the whiskey.

Soon the whiskey and tiredness took its toll and all simply lay on the ground, still in their waders, using their wading jackets as pillow. " Goodnight, Jim Bob, goodnight John Boy........good night all "; said Hank as he drifted off into a deep sleep.



William and Bill woke at 4AM and set to work starting a small fire and putting on a pot of very strong coffee. The snores from the others were deafening and Willowhead was doing a hell of a lot of talking in his sleep.
Sitting quietly drinking some coffee they wondered how the hell they got themselves into this, guiding a bunch of complete strangers, one crazier than the next. "One things for sure"; said Bill, "real life will seem awful dull after this".

"Let me do it "; said William taking the bucket of water from Bill. He swung as hard as he could , the water flew high into the air and fell on the sleeping anglers. "Morning folks"; ready for coffee.

Dubby stretched and quickly got to his feet, nodded at William and Bill, looked at the sky and simply said " Perfect conditions, we will have good sport this morning". William and Bill were no longer in control of this trip, Dubby had taken command and they were willing to follow. "That was one impressive display last night " said William; he was still in awe of Dubbys prowess and intimate knowledge of Turners Cross.

Suitable words have not being invented yet that could even come close to describing the state of Hank, Dougsden and Willowhead. The ones that come to mind ain't appropriate for a public forum.

Hank and Dougsden grabbed some towels from the RV, tossed one to Willowhead and they headed for the stream. Dubbn followed at a discreet distance with his camera ready. It was hard to keep the camera steady as the three old buzzards , naked as the day they were born hopped into the cold stream.

"Jeez, this is colder than that stream I took a swim in on a jazz trip to Alaska, 82 that was"; hollered Willowhead.

Not quite light yet , the camera flashed and Dubbn high tailed it back to camp. The three grizzlys in various states of undress stormed up the path screaming blue murder. " Too late lads, I just put it up on the forum";



Dubbn was hiding behind Buffalo Bill and safe from retribution, at least safe for the moment.

"Unreal, just look at that sunrise, isn't it a thing of beauty, man, I wish Letumgo Ray was here to see this, he sure would appreciate it", Willowhead was all emotional and it wasn't just the remnants of the whiskey talking.. " This is what it's all about, look at that early morning mist sheathing the river......"; Willowhead burst into song,

"see trees of green, red roses too
I see them bloom for me and you
And I think to myself what a wonderful world.
I see skies of blue and clouds of ......
"

don't ya just love Louis"

"I know we all have travelled a different road to get here and god knows what road we will take when we leave, but right now we sons of bitches are the luckiest people on this planet."

"Amen bro", said Hank ,,, and if you are finished all that girlie talk can we go catch a trout" 

Upstream said Dubby we need to move quickly before the mist lifts. Dubby led the way , wading confidently across the river, following the same trail William had taken a week or so earlier. Pausing briefly at the "Pool of the Gods" waiting for everyone to catch up he continued upstream, past Williams riffle and up another mile or so. "Where is he taking us , there's no fishable water ahead"; whispered Bill to William. "Dunno"; said William, "there's a few miles of forest ahead and its impassable and controlled by the military, I've tried a few times." Reaching the forest, Dubby stopped. He noticed the puzzled look on Williams's face, " I guess you haven't ventured beyond here before, you are in for one hell of a treat". He looked at William and Bill, "not a word to another living soul, agreed". Both nodded, game on.

Dubby dropped down into the river, the water reaching his midriff, "careful, keep tight to the bank" he warned the group. Slowly they waded up following Dubby, "Not far now, if you want a good trout you gotta earn it". Dubby suddenly stopped at a fallen tree, clambered up the bank and beckoned the rest to follow. He led them through the trees, somehow finding a route through what looked to be impassable. " took me five years of exploring to get this far"; he said casually. Without warning they entered a clearing , right tight to the river, only a few yards wide , it stretched as far as the eye could see.

William and Bill whooped with delight, it slowly dawning on them that they were about to fish water that hadn't seen an angler in nearly 12 years. Looking upstream they were bewitched by the beauty of the river, long pools and riffles, twisting, turning, shimmering between great boulders. Bounded on both sides by the forest it was the most intimate of places.


Willowhead was off again and somehow it seemed just right that he had joined them.

Fish in the sea
You know how I feel
River running free
You know how I feel
Blossom on a tree
You know how I feel
It's a new dawn
It's a new day
It's a new life
For me
And I'm feeling good


The delighted friends continued to gasp in delight, pointing out particular parts of the river, the excitement was contagious. Each set about readying their rod. Dubby had already advised that they use as long a leader as they could handle with a 7x tippet.

Dougsden withdrew slightly from the group, found an old weathered tree stump, sat quietly , arms folded and stared at the river.



The rest continued with their excited chitter chatter and only Dubbn noticed that Dougsden was not setting up his rod. What's wrong my friend he asked quietly, wondering what the heck was bothering Dougsden. A man of few words, when Dougsden talked you listened.

Dougsden looked long and hard at Dubby and finally spoke; " It's a long story that started many years ago.....and you are the first person that I felt that I could discuss it with".

"I have fly fished every single season of my entire life, as did my father before me. He passed on to me much of what he learned and by the time I was thirty I could dang well take every trout in a pool. My father was a wet fly man and that was the way I started. I fished wet fly upstream, downstream , across stream, long before you were born. I could tie flies and manipulate them to imitate every dang critter that lived in the stream. No trout that I wanted to catch avoided capture. Caddis, Mayflies, Stoneflies, newts, tadpoles, Corixae, fry, crayfish it did not matter what was on a trouts menu, if I fished it they ate it. Sure there was always a tricky fish and that was a little fun but the conclusion, nah that was foregone, the trout would be caught."

" It was fun for a short while, I knew I was the possibly the best catcher of trout with a fly rod on earth, best, but what was the point of being best. I had learned too much too quickly and I knew it."

" So I then took up Dry Fly, that was a blast, so many difficulties to overcome but after a few years I was back to square one, any trout surface feeding, he was mine if I chose to catch him. I always fished alone, how could anyone that is that good at something have real friends. Yeah, sure they would admire you at first, but that would soon turn to envy and finally begrudgery, that isn't much fun I can assure you. I don't fish much anymore, sure I take out my rod and head for the river and have a nice walk. Often I meet other anglers and listen to their successes and failures and that's enjoyable. I still tie flies, discuss flies, I enjoy watching young anglers develop their skills at a real nice slow pace. Fishing, without doing much actual fishing still gives me a lot of fun. And yeah, I can look at a trout rising, bulging or swirling at nymphs subsurface and see the right fly, imagine it presented in the right way and know, I could catch that trout, that's a little fun too."

"Fishing that little stream, doing my jigging and whooshing, catching that toad was the most enjoyable bit of fishing I have had in over twenty years. Jigging and Whooshing will catch some trout, sometimes a surprisingly fine trout but not many and no matter how much you do it you can't be sure of success and you can't get any better at it. That's why....."

Pausing Dougsden looked out at the river, gathering his thoughts.

"That's why I won't be tying on a spent BWO, that's why I won't catch as many trout as everyone else, it's hard to find real friends and you and the others are real special and I do not care to spoil things. Besides, just look at that fast water over the far side, a man could happily spend the rest of his life standing in that spot, Whooshing and a jigging, watching the seasons change, and listening to music of the stream. There's music in a stream, did ya ever stop to listen to it Dubbn. Each place on each stream has its own unique sound, listen closely sometime Dubbn, who knows you might just like it, I know I do. Most anglers hurry too much, they often miss the most important things"

Dubbn offered his hand, "Dougsden , "I could not meet a nicer fella to be friends with, or to fish with. Fish whatever way you want, whatever way that gives you pleasure."

Dougsden , beamed with joy, then taking a small fly box from his inside pocket he handed it to Dubbn. " Inside this box are a set of flies , whose use when learned will catch every fish in the stream, if you want , I can teach you how to use them". Dubbn was sorely tempted by such an offer, but he smiled, refused the offer and whispered to Dougsden " you have taught me all the wisdom I need to know about fishing, thank you my friend", now lets get you a whooshing ". Good, thought Dougsden, this is a nice day to Jig and Whoosh.
Dubbn left Dougsden to prick his finger in selecting his jigging fly.

Dubbn whistled, thinking, You never know what's inside the head of another man, ya just never know.

In thirty years of fishing, reading about fishing, talking to others he just met the one man that could answer all his questions. Yet to ask, would be asking to be cursed. Dubbn shivered at the thought , he knew that he was tantalizingly close to being near as good as Dougsden. Thankfully he now understood that he needed to slow down his learning to a snails pace and maybe listen to the stream a bit more.

Okay girls, are you ready for some action, the mist is almost lifted, Dubbn nudged the others towards the river.

Dougsden followed the others down into the river, patted Hank on the back, "Go catch a big un Hank, I am going over to that fast water to see if I can Jig another ole toad". Hank started to do the breast stroke, " heck, if you see this old toad splashing around , floating down the currents, be careful with that jigger, I don't want a size 4 attached to my butt".

Willowhead, an encyclopaedia of music, waded ahead of the group, another tune just popped out. ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫

Jerimiah said his peace and fell back in the road
He was shot by Coulee Reese
Who they nick-named Jack The Toad
Just across his shoulder just a little to the........


"Hey guys, Willow has some country in him, isn't that a hoot"; laughed Hank.

Catching up on Willow, Dubbn led them upstream, staying close to the bank. Willow struggled a little; the water was quite deep here. "You trying to wear out this old showman, Dubby", "there's some fine shallow wading water out there"; Willow pointed midstream. "I know there is "said Dubby," but if we go splashing up through the shallows the trout will bolt for cover and scare every trout upstream, you gotta think like a hunter Willow."

"Sure can do "; laughed Willow, " I ain't done this hunting type fishing in years, met a fella at a conclave....  some years back, he even wore camouflage underwear,    chuckle, well if he didn't go an buy one of them bright Hawaiian shirts once he got into conservation....1996 that was....


"
They call me the hunter, that's my name
A pretty woman like you, is my only game
I bought me a love gun, just the other day
And I aim to aim it your way.........
"


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