It was the spot, I knew where to look
The spot for a cast in this gentle moving brook
Just off the bank where the current bends
The place for a long drift with an occasional mend
The spot was an eddy with bubbles and foam
A perfect feeding place for my dry fly to roam
A glance to the elements, I pondered the hatch
Then reached for a bug that was hooked to my patch
Fingers tie a clinch knot, ever so tight
Terrestrial chosen and ready to take flightI knelt for a bit , watching for a rise
Kept my shadow to myself , Salmon trutta can be so wise
Finally a sip , subtle rings show him there
Now it's up to me , natural presentation to make him stare
I stand and I load , I haul and it goes
Tight loop above the rings , in a drift for his nose
I wait for the take, but he passes on the bite
Something about it to him did not seem right
I mumbled some words , fisherman’s angst I suppose
Time to head upstream. In search of who knows
- A Poem by Patrick Hancock.
March 28, 2020.
Patrick who was one of our guests this last season, shares this lovely poem that he wrote. It was a delight to have him and his wife and son stay with us!