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Ghosts ....

We walked along many stream banks over the years, often taking turns covering the best runs and pools as we worked our way upstream. Sometimes I would look up and see him disappear around a bend in the creek, other times using his fly rod to point out a run I should work before he went up the creek. He cast a smooth line and worked the water methodically and patiently like a hunter. Sometimes I would see him sitting along the stream just relaxing and watching the water, other times watching me fish. He took me on my first camping and fly fishing trip to Potter County when I was just a kid. It was where I caught my first native brook trout on a Female Adams on one of those dark pools shaded with overhanging Hemlocks. There were many other streams and pools and days over the span of years, each of them special in their own way. Sharing a stream with a good friend is one of life’s most enjoyable things, and I’ve had the fortune of making a lot of memories on the water with a few close friends. Charlie has since gone on to fish better waters, but he still fishes with me in spirit. Some days in the solitude and quietness of a mountain stream my thoughts often turn back to some of those memories. I find myself looking upstream at times and expect to see him casting on a pool upstream and find myself smiling and laughing, and at other times feeling a knot deep inside. Memories of old friends are often like that. I’ll see you upstream someday old friend. Till then …..


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