Dear Reader: The introduction to the second of six installments of the (kinda long) short story about friendship, faith and flyfishing follows…
Baptism
The Lehigh River crashed under the bridge, churning white froth and green menace with the late winter runoff. The road forked after crossing the bridge from the village. The upstream road was pitted, gravel and mud. Downstream the road was paved and the next logical turn. We went upstream in the direction of a presaged place that balanced the ability of Dave’s old Volvo coupe, nearly a classic at the time, to withstand the rough road and a fisherman’s reserve for a vigorous hike ahead.
We had only met the night before and somehow we were about to enter a wilderness together. Perhaps it was a mistake. The road narrowed and the woods seemed to grow darker. It was March and about 40 degrees.
Continue reading: https://erwatsonblog.com/when-fish-rise/
Practicing, Not Perfect 