In this third of six installments, we continue a story of friendship, faith and flyfishing:
Apparitions
There are many ways into the gorge and Dave knew another hidden passage.
It was early May. The mountain laurel was getting ready to bloom. We were to hike down Stony Creek to its confluence with the Lehigh, a place Dave called Pumpkin Hollow. He said it with a hint of reverence or desire. And, oh, I should wear good boots.
He drove the old Volvo on roads without names, turning into a driveway with the innate sensibility of a GPS device decades ahead of its time. The driveway made a steep descent and turned left at the bottom. He parked off the drive, close to the hill. There was a little house in the bottom and no sign of movement, no barking dog. Dave opened the glove box, tore a scrap of paper from a larger piece and scratched a note about returning before nightfall. He placed the note on top of the dashboard and left the keys in the ignition.
Continue reading: https://erwatsonblog.com/when-fish-rise/
Practicing, Not Perfect 