Music fills the truck, streams out the windows
Guitar riffs crying, drifting where the wind goes,
Roll up, slide out,
Rig a rod, fly doubt,
Yeah. That one... Knot it.
Search for extra tippet, hemos… got it.
Striding across wind-dried sand,
Worn cork of an old 7wt in hand.
Water’s edge; feel the old thrill,
Stop and watch, but no time to kill.
The sun hurries belowground,
Wading gently forward, make no sound…
C’mon fish… There!
A tail, waving gently in dusk-dripping air,
Right where he’s supposed to be.
The moment most appreciated, by such as me.
Time for finesse – drop it in there just right.
Tail drops, but you can never tell when they… strip tight!
After a bulldog rush, fish comes to hand…
Black drum, last light trip, out here in the promised land.