“A good three pounds, if my guessing is any good,” Doc said,
shaking his head.
“Your dog?” asked Mavis.
“No, Hon,” Doc said with a smile, “Ol’ Lunker, that big trout down
in Lewis Creek.”
The best fly tying and fly fishing had failed to bring O.L. to the
net for a long time now. Oh, sometimes he’d investigate a fly
closely and start a near panic attack in the angler, but then he’d
turn back into his hole and let the fly drift on by. It was
“Maybe he’s just smart,” Dud said.
“Instinct, I think,” said Doc. “I just don’t think any trout is all
that smart. But instinct could account for it. He knows what he
wants to eat, and somehow, the flies we send him just don’t quite
look right, or smell right, or float properly, or sink fast enough.
“I’ve tied my best for him,” Marvin Pincus said, looking
semi-depressed. “I swear I don’t know what that fish wants.”
“You’re the best fly tier in the valley, Marvin,” Steve added. “If
your flies can’t do it, I’m wondering if anything can.”
[to top of second
“Have you tried using bait?” Mavis asked. “My
brother does okay with worms and salmon eggs.”
Every member of the world dilemma think tank gave hostile stares at
their friendly waitress until she remembered something in the
kitchen and left in a hurry.
“Bait? Use BAIT?” Doc moaned.
Marvin nodded. “Might just as well shoot the dang fish.”
Life, after all, would mean nothing without standards and values.
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