The People You Meet While Knee Deep in a River - Incident No. 392

While I was sitting on the bumper of my car last night getting ready to hit the South Branch, this guy walked past me and said, "Hey, how ya doin?"

I said, "Good". And he kept going, leaving bootprints on the pavement from the river in his felt soled, chest high, waders. He had on a old, fraying at the edges, greenish ballcap that had a standard issue, red Boston Red Sox "B" over the brim. His hair was over his ears and salt and peppery colored, medium height, wrinkled vest, net, and generally what you see these days on the river......that, or the other species of fly fisherman known as an "Orvis Cowboy". You know, the guy that has all the latest and greatest, highly marketed gear that thinks the more he spends, the more he looks like a bad-ass, top of the skill pyramid, fly fisherman.........Right!

So, a short while later, I'm at the head of a run casting to a couple of trout that were lazily rising to no apparent insect matter along the opposite bank. Downstream I see Mr. Redsox entering the lower end of the same long pool. No problem by me, he's 75-80 yards downstream of me. I do notice, actually can't help but notice, his casting style is less poetry-in-motion and more washing machine. Did you ever swish a stick back and forth in water? Well, that's what his casting sounded like.

A short while later I hook a small brown trout and it fights mightily, splashing about as I bring it in.

"DUDE! That's awesome, you nailed one!" I look downstream and there is Mr. Redsox now about 40 yards downstream of me shouting. "Cool!"

I said, "Thanks, it really isn't that big. I'll take it though."

"Oh, but man, you got him on TOP! That was soooo cool." He says, and then continues slashing the water.

I thought to myself, What's the deal with this guy? He's bobbing and weaving in his waders, casting like a monkey might if it had a fly rod, and he had this silly, happy as a clam, smile on his face. We, I mean I, kept fishing and out of the corner of my eye I could see Mr. Redsox slowly working his way towards me.

He lights a cigarette, and sucks in the first drag like he's a 4 year old kid using a straw and his glass is almost empty of lemonade. Hisssssssss.

I just smiled and tried to concentrate, but I kept thinking, What's the deal?

I get another take, but I miss it. Mr. Redsox sees it and at the top of his lungs, "Ohhhhhh, man, that was in your face man. Fail!"

I started laughing, "Do I know you?" This guy was hyper and having too much fun. Again, I thought, What's the deal with this guy?

And then, as though he heard me, he says quietly as though we were surrounded by cops, "Dude, there's nothing like getting stoned and fly fishing. Everything is beautiful out here."

And there was the moon..........

reflecting............

Rainy day woman would be proud.