Large callused hands retrieved a faded olive fishing vest from its corner hook in the dusty log cabin. He smelled the river from the day before and remembered the Texas winds through the funnels of the red stoned hills. Matt had thirty minutes before first light but he was eager, so he took his fly rod from the wall and ambled out the back door.
He shuffled five small steps across the plank porch and steadied himself by holding the cedar porch post before he made the 10-inch step to the ground. His knees no longer had their youthful balance. He smiled, and rubbed his white 5-day whiskers with his free hand. Sometime ago he had told his son he could no longer hit and roll if he fell… now he could only thud and flop!…they had laughed hard! He laughed about it to himself again. It wasn't so funny when he thought of it now, now that he was here alone, but then again... maybe it was!
He took the trail to the river. After a 10-minute saunter by the light of a fingernail moon, Matt waded into the dark water and sat on large boulder 10-yards from shore. He tied on a stonefly nymph and waited for the first hint of light on the horizon.
He enjoyed the sounds of life as they awakened around him. As the first reflection of light appeared on the water surface he saw the first fish rise. With the skill of a surgeon Matt made one fluid motion with his rod and placed his fly in the current three feet above the circle, WHAM! A beautiful 5-pound bass blew the surface with a stonefly nymph in his lip. Not bad for the first cast. I wish my boy was here with me…
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