I had been fishing all afternoon without much luck. One fish briefly on. The river ran parallel to the highway, with a quarter mile of field inbetween. For a ways, a grass airstrip separated the river and the road.
I was situated at what I knew to be a good, deep hole with some big fish in it. The current was very strange, as the clean discharge from a wastewater treatment facility entered here, so there were two currents in a funny little corner. Occasionally, fish rose to midges. I was drifting a wooly bugger every which way through the currents.
As I watched the indicator drift past me to the right and then behind me, I heard a fish rise above me and to my left. I instinctively looked to see where the rise rings were and at that very moment felt a tug on my line behind me. Just as I realized I had a fish on, a small Cessna came roaring up the river and as it got over me, the pilot took it into a steep, engine-roaring climb.
It’s a strange river I was fishing that day.
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