He starts laughing so hard he almost wet his waders. She drowned my favorite fishing cap, and bruised my ego, bit my cheek, before I was finally able to get a headlock on her, and rid the fly. I fairly threw her away, and she was happy to go. We went back to our fishing - me, hatless of course. Every once in a while Rob would look over and bust out laughing.
Brothers can be bad for that.
The good news is we caught fish. As afternoon wore into evening and evening into nightfall, the fishing just got better and better. I did notice Robs rod was in a flex, but his yellow flyline was pointed up in the star lit night. He seemed to fending sometime like he was in a medieval sword fight. He was paddling erratically in circles.