It looks like a dull, gray, foggy day. Most of us would be glad to be somewhere sunny, maybe with blue water instead of that dull gray stuff. But for the fly fisherman, there’s nowhere else he’d rather be just at this moment.

It looks like he could be lost in that fog, not knowing which way to go, but I don’t think he cares right now because he just had a nibble.

More than a nibble. It might be a whale. Sure the rod isn’t bent right over, but that’s just because the fish  has stopped to take a breath.

Hey! Weren’t we taught never to stand up in a boat?  Maybe this fish will pull the fisherman right over into the water. No worries. He’s wearing his lifejacket. It’s one of those slim ones that inflates if you hit the water.

Worst case scenario, his camera-wielding friend might have to put the camera down and go rescue his buddy.

 

It’s an addiction, it’s an affliction,

Spending the day on the sea.

Teasing the fish to come lie on the dish,

A wonderful dinner to be.

 

Sliding beneath the boat, silently there to gloat,

Lurking around in the dark,

Feeling so smug, as he snaps at a bug,

Grinning with glee like a shark.

 

Bug is all tangled and though it is mangled,

Now it has bitten the fish.

Spit it right out, and then thrash all about,

“If only!” The fish makes his wish.

 

 

Now who is smiling? This sport is beguiling,

Enticing the fish with a bug,

Everyone knows, why the fisherman chose

To be out here: “A tug is a drug.”