I dream a million fireflies transporting me to this space A Moon shadow casts a light upon my face. A Young boy dreaming of tight lines on this Kinderhook NY stream, Water droplets on frozen fly line, cast a prism sunbeam.
It's this time and special place that etches a constant memory, Of Standing on that rock casting tight loops across the estuary. Practice makes perfect as I make a presentation towards this riffle, I can see a smile on my face, a moment in time that's purely transcendental.
With hope on the rise and a pheasant tail nymph tied to my tippet, I make my way past the roily water to a calmer spot I'll inhibit. Stripping line I load this feather chucker and place a nymph on the breezers nose Zzzzzzz screams my reel and I scramble to fight this foe
As the snow begins to fall, I gaze upon this look of contentment in my eyes And hover from above to watch myself learning to fly. I whisper to myself, " Man life doesn't get any better than this", As I kneel to release my catch, I watch him glide into the abyss.
And at day's end, I find myself walking beside the memory of Lou, Theodore, and Jack, Three mentors who showed me the way, part of my Wulff pack. Some Say "if I fished only to capture fish, my trips would have ended long ago", And now I have something that money can't buy, the gift of learning to fly.
In memory of the three men I admire so much..Theodore Gordon, Lee Wolff and Jack Hemingway. I've learned so much from the three of you. RIP and I hope all your lines are tight! FISH ON!