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Tying One On Thomas L. Holderfield


As if tracing the fragile arcs of some dream, the line found its way down the day to land in the stream. Attached to it, the minutest of flies tied carefully so as to disguise itself as the tiniest of hatches, just one of several matches the fisherman would try today in his own peculiar, fastidious way.


Having waded out to the middle of the waters in his rubber waders as old as Muddy Waters, the fisherman played out his line, a line so translucent and fine. He had high hopes on this trip out that he would land a record trout. But just being here, here in the hills gave him the biggest of thrills.


W PAGE 21 ∙ Year I ∙ Issue #1


The day had broken just an hour ago and he had yet nothing to show. Nothing to show for the art of fishing, but that did not keep him from wishing that his efforts would someday pay off and that fellow fishermen their hats would doff as they asked what he had tied on to catch such a fish and the trophy he’d won.


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