My brother is an angler devoted to the stream that pools around long boots, making the slow cast that gently whips and ripples the surface with a reel that knows the proper weight of the scales below.
Gone are the days when he fished Crandon Pier while sitting on an overturned paint bucket with a cheap red and white bobber and a cane pole, competing with the gulls for the punniest sea prize.
Now he fishes the Rogue's eternal flow, its waters murmuring unseen truths far from shadowy gray terns’ jeers that steal his peace— fishing in steadfast streams that let his boots anchor him to the quiet pulse of home.v
Leave a Reply