Mike couldn’t help but eavesdrop. The two guys that sat next to him at the bar weren’t quiet. But they were also talking fly fishing. Judging by their attire, they did more than just talk about fly fishing. He had just come off the river himself, and was celebrating a decent day with a burger and a couple of beers. Other people’s business was usually the last thing he cared about. Their volume and proximity made avoidance difficult. And, truth be told, the conversation was more interesting than the ballgame.
“Well I started fly fishing when I was like 12 or 13.” This was the guy just to his right. He had on a red hat with a big tackle company’s name on the front. “I bought an old rod and reel at a neighborhood yard sale and used anything from my dad’s tackle box that I could cast. Little soft plastics and panfish lures. It was awesome. Well, getting hooked in the back of the head by a treble hook because my cast stunk wasn’t awesome. But it was fun and I was learning every time I went out.”
Red’s friend (drinking Bud, so Mike thought of him as Bud, naturally) made a few jokes about using panfish lures on a 5-weight.
“I didn’t know any better,” Red said. “It wasn’t until some old dude that lived by the park where I fished came and brought me a bunch of woolly buggers and little poppers. He told me they’d be easier to cast and a whole lot less dangerous. That guy was really cool. I mean, taking the time to just talk to a kid he didn’t know? Give him flies? That was when I first really fly fished, I guess.”
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