The usual group of men stood along a country road near an old bridge. The bridge had been there as long as anyone could remember, according to the older members of the Saturday morning gathering. It served as the place to start one’s journey up or down the small trout stream in the northern part of the state. The country road provided an easy way to meander to the many access paths to the stream. Each man had his own path leading to a favorite spot that, hopefully, was unknown to the others. Rocks, logs, pools and riffles all held rewards for those who were patient enough to meticulously search every promising spot on the stream.
This particular warm spring Saturday, just after Opening Day, promised to be a good day as some of the men had seen the start of a hatch on the stream. While discussing what flies to use for that morning, a sporty-looking car pulled off the road and parked just north of the bridge. It immediately caught the attention of all present. Did one of the guys buy a new car? A visitor from out of town?
No, the license plate was local and new according to the sticker in the upper left corner. Their questions were quickly answered as the door opened and an attractive young lady got out of the car. She moved to the rear of the car and unlocked the hatchback. Silence replaced idle chatter. No one recalled seeing the young lady around the small town. With curiosity they watched to see what she was doing there, interrupting their Saturday morning ritual. As they watched and pondered her presence, she took out a rod case and began to assemble a flyrod. They squinted in the sunlight as she secured a reel on the rod. After expertly threading the line through the guides, she reached into the car and produced a leader wallet. Choosing her leader, she looped it onto the line. The young lady further kept the men's attention as she donned a fishing vest adorned with those items necessary for trout fishing anywhere. She selected a flybox from a front pocket and picked a fly that she evidently felt would produce results. Wading shoes were quickly laced as if anticipation were driving her to hurry and get on the water as quickly as possible.
She walked down the road to the group and inquired if she could enter the stream about a hundred yards downstream of the bridge. A few quietly nodded assent or grunted a positive answer. She entered the stream and began to shake out several yards of line. The group moved as one body to the bridge to watch. Curiosity focused their eyes on the young lady as she moved to the center of the stream and began to expertly false cast, and dropped the fly near a large rock. After a few seconds, she picked up the fly and cast again, nearer to the rock. A flawless cast allowed the fly to settle gently on the water. After drifting about two feet, the fly disappeared in a swirl. The young lady lifted the rod and pulled on the line to set the hook. After a couple of minutes she lifted a nice brown trout from the cold, clear water of the stream. She carefully positioned the trout so the men could get a good look and then carefully removed the hook. Pointing the trout’s nose upstream, she held it until it took off with a splash of appreciation at being released.
The men shook their heads. They were now trying to think of a diplomatic way to make introductions and inquire as to what fly she had chosen. In a short time they would discover she was a doctor and would be working at the local medical clinic the following Monday. It would be a long time before it was revealed that she was raised near a well-known river in the West and, as a child, that her father taught her to flyfish while he worked as a guide, casting instructor, and fly tier.
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