"Here it is." Chick pointed down. Mike could just see the spot on the ledge where you needed to stand to fish the run. All chalked up from years of standing, swinging and secretly praying for a tug. "The cold is nice." Mike said as he exhaled and pulled out a beat up Wheatley that his grandfather had passed to him. His fingers were still waking up so getting the damn box open without letting it drop into the current kept him focused. Focusing was good, it made him relax.
"Hey Chick, what are we fishing today? I got some of the usual suspects from the shop a long time ago. Tourist flies mostly."
"Come on, it’s the Camp Water. Throw a Green Butt Skunk, see if you can't move one around, if you don't, I give you one I tied last night."
"Ok you’re the pro.” Mike said sarcastically. “I’ll follow your lead today."