By D.R. Ross
I could not resist the temptation to catch one of the legendary rainbow trout which local yokels said evolved in this creek. With baited fishing pole in hand—and extra night crawlers in a crushed styrofoam cup in my pocket—I crept to the end of a limb hanging over the water. It provided a perfect aerial view of trophy lunkers lurking in the rocks. In my mind, I could smell them sizzling in a frying pan on my campfire. But before I could wet my worm, I heard a snap and then a voice: “You stupid son of a fish.”
No doubt you are referring to our aquatic origins.
Yes. You “caught” my drift. Thanks.