Sitting quietly on the rock, putting aside his need to get home, William tried to reflect on what had just happened. Feeling thoroughly exhausted , he found it hard to gather his thoughts together. That this had been an incredible evenings fishing, of that there was no doubt. The great trout, the pleasures of the big rod, shadow boxing with Mike and finally that dreamlike run up through the riffle. An old angler that he had often met in his youth had once said to a young William "Sonny, when you have learned about fly's , about where trout lie and how to catch them, one day you will become part of the stream and then you can call yourself a trout angler"
William had thought him an eccentric old buzzard, now he wasn't quite so sure that the description was apt. Wishing that the old buzzard was still alive so that he could ask him some questions he resigned himself to keeping this experience to himself.
William dismantled the extra rod sections , carefully placing them in the rod tube. Taking one long hard glance at the riffle he broke into a huge smile and with a spring in his step he sauntered back down river, lost in thought , still inwardly shaking from the excitement of the evening. William whistled to himself, smirking, he hadn't whistled in years. The last rays of light guided him back to the inside riffle, he was tempted to flick his flies into the riffle but refrained as he knew that he did not have the time to fight the great trout that he knew with certainty was there and knew would be his should he cast. He was part of the stream now and greed had no future role to play in his angling.
THE END.
or just the beginning ?