Lines On the Water

Cover Lines On the Water
Genres: Fiction
He could no longer drive for his eyes were bad, and so I took him out.
We would go out early—sometimes getting on the river by five o’clock, me driving my old Suzuki Jeep. As June gave way to July we switched rivers, as July gave way to August we switched again, and each switch fulfilled a certain destiny for a certain number of fish.
Mr. Simms was a great caster, and always took more fish than I. He was as unconsciously a part of the river as any man I have ever fished with. The best of it was
..., like all men I have fished with who are comfortable with themselves, he expected nothing from you.
Going down the Norwest in a canoe with him, he would pole to a dead still at the upper edge of a rapid, which would afford me time, at leisure to fish over a promising stretch or rock.
“There’s a fish there,” he whispered to me one morning, just below Stickney Pool, where the salmon always hold hard to the left bank before they enter Stickney itself. It is a deep leisurely part of the river between Stickney and the flat above Cedar Pool.
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