I was torn between staying close to help and encourage, and putting a great distance between myself and certain piscatorial confusion. As I rose to my feet and waded gently into the first pool, already lengthening line, a shout of elation shattered the quiet of the evening. I dropped everything and hared down to him. A spirited sea trout of about two and a half pounds had the stupidity to attach itself firmly to his fly and make off with it. It appeared to be so firmly attached that even the inevitable slack line didn't have the effect it would most certainly have had if I had been holding the rod and had the good fortune to be connected to such a nice fish.
Hot instructions rent the night air.
Gently or you'll break the cast. Just lead him firmly this way, don't drag him. Against all the odds the fish was in the net, a lovely fresh fish, newly in from the sea and as bright as a new shilling. The awful truth dawned on me, he was hooked, hooked as firmly as his sea trout. His next words sealed my doom.