Bobs hands me a pair of hip waders and pulls out two rods. Then comes the tackle box, layered in hand-tied flies of every imaginable color and size. I've got flies that I carry in my fly box. I tied those three there when I was in high school. I realize, for the first time, Bob's fly collection is more than the tools of the trade.
Every fly represents a lifetime of fish stories.
And strangely too, it's art, Bob's tribute to God's handiwork in nature. The trick here is to float an artificial fly exactly the way a real one would sweep down the river. Hopefully, the fish grabs for it and the fisherman has a split second to hook the trout before he spits the nasty impersonator out. I remember as a kid looking through Field and Stream at the dentist's office. Bob must have looked at those same magazines growing up in New Jersey, but he was serious.