I can see the grass end and a nice sand point traveling off into the depths of the sound...I peer into the water looking for the next great experience...I tell Mills to look on the sand coming over the point…I coach the bow with a command to make sure you lead him...the cast was made, the loop near perfect…fly lands a little inside and to the right to my liking…I tell Mills to let it sit…now strip it, strip it…the fish turns and is on the hunt…I hold my breath taking in the scene anticipating the eat…the fish is there…within 3 inches of the fly…I feel a lil pee run down my leg…then I speak in anguish, “DON'T STOP, STRIP….”No love was witnessed only a lapdance...on the bow was a lowered head that was smiling in defeat and victory.
The End
nice way to tell the story of a refusal. Tell them the story about Trout that bit and spit the fly with the leader in the tiptop....now that was a heart breaker
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