Anglers Journal

Old Haunts

I stood on a windy hill on an early April evening, smelling the rain blowing off the sound as it moved up the river valley, shrouding it in sheets of mist.

At that moment, I made up my mind that, unlike the previous season, I would spend as many days in the field as possible. Not for love, money or work would I miss another stretch of productive spring tides. I knew that if I was to

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