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First Impressions
By: L. Woodrow Ross
The first time James met him, the old man was sitting on a moss-covered rock
by a big pool on the Chattooga River. He was fishing with an old bamboo rod
that looked like it was pieced together with tape and the guides had been
wrapped with miscellaneous remnants of different thread colors. He paused
to watch and the old the man looked in his direction and waved for him to
come over.
“You ever fish this pool, son?”, the old man asked.
“Yes, occasionally, but I never caught anything but a few small rainbows”.
He chuckled and replied, “There’s a few big browns that hang out in the deep
part near those submerged boulders. One of ‘em has a notch in his dorsal
that I put there. I bet I’ve caught him five or six times. He’ll go 24 or 25
inches.”
James found that hard to believe. Small browns were hard enough to catch,
let alone a 25 inch fish. He just nodded in agreement, not to offend the old
chap.
The old man stuck out a grizzled hand that was brown and wrinkled like old
leather that had been left out in the sun for a long time. James grasped it and
shook. He was surprised by the grip and the vigor of the handshake.
“I’m what’s left of Zedekiah Barton. Folks call me Zed. I live in Salem, but
drive over here to fish a couple times a week in my old truck.”
“My name’s James Watson. I live in Greenville and don’t get here very often,
but I love to fish here. It’s always peaceful and beautiful on the river.”
* Read the remaining 9 pages for only $1.49. Payment by PayPal and provide
your e-mail and a pdf file with the entire story will be sent. Go to Products
page on directory to order.
By: L. Woodrow Ross
The first time James met him, the old man was sitting on a moss-covered rock
by a big pool on the Chattooga River. He was fishing with an old bamboo rod
that looked like it was pieced together with tape and the guides had been
wrapped with miscellaneous remnants of different thread colors. He paused
to watch and the old the man looked in his direction and waved for him to
come over.
“You ever fish this pool, son?”, the old man asked.
“Yes, occasionally, but I never caught anything but a few small rainbows”.
He chuckled and replied, “There’s a few big browns that hang out in the deep
part near those submerged boulders. One of ‘em has a notch in his dorsal
that I put there. I bet I’ve caught him five or six times. He’ll go 24 or 25
inches.”
James found that hard to believe. Small browns were hard enough to catch,
let alone a 25 inch fish. He just nodded in agreement, not to offend the old
chap.
The old man stuck out a grizzled hand that was brown and wrinkled like old
leather that had been left out in the sun for a long time. James grasped it and
shook. He was surprised by the grip and the vigor of the handshake.
“I’m what’s left of Zedekiah Barton. Folks call me Zed. I live in Salem, but
drive over here to fish a couple times a week in my old truck.”
“My name’s James Watson. I live in Greenville and don’t get here very often,
but I love to fish here. It’s always peaceful and beautiful on the river.”
* Read the remaining 9 pages for only $1.49. Payment by PayPal and provide
your e-mail and a pdf file with the entire story will be sent. Go to Products
page on directory to order.
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