fisherman’s friend
AFTER A SIX-HOUR DRIVE FROM DALLAS, WE ARRIVE IN ROCKPORT, TEXAS, just in time for dinner at a seafood restaurant on the shore, where palm trees are silhouetted against the glow of a salmon-colored April sunset. My photographer friend Daniel Rodrigue and I have just finished a plate of crab cakes when our guide for the next day’s fly-fishing trip calls to discuss when and where to meet. When he learns I have never cast a fly rod, he is flabbergasted.
“It would be a miracle if you caught anything,” he says. Now I’m the confounded one: I thought he was supposed to help me do just that. But I’m not discouraged. Despite my guide’s doubts and despite all the evidence in my past fishing experience that would confirm them, I am optimistic about the expedition.
The next morning, we arrive at the boat ramp a few minutes early. Our guide is already loading his skiff, an 18-foot Chittum Yacht Laguna Madre Edition, as the rising sun lights up the sky in neon pink. There we shake hands with J.T. Van Zandt, the son of legendary Texas singer-songwriter Townes Van Zandt and something of a star himself in the world of fly-fishing.
As we grab our own
