True Believers

Any last hope we had of catching a summer steelhead on a dry fly that cold morning late in the year evaporated when we encountered two fishermen on their way downstream. Bomber, my longtime fishing partner, and I had driven through the predawn, thrown on packs and hiked through forest and canyon to reach this section of the river, a place where fish tended to congregate and we rarely encountered other anglers. When we saw the two bearded men with long rods ahead of us, we swore in unison.

Bomber knew the guys. He had worked at a fishing shop for several years and knew just about anyone we ever met on the local rivers.