Sometimes it all comes together.
You tied up some more damsel dries, this time with non-sink wings.
You get to the lake at late afternoon. It's hot and calm.
As you're getting ready to launch the tube you see a single rise twenty feet away in the shallows around some submerged willows. The ring just keeps on going, a sign that it might have been a large body displacing that water.
You tie on a new damsel dry and push off. You strip out line and drop the fly right where you had seen the rise. There hasn't been another since that first one.
You let the fly rest for a beat or two. Then give it some slight movement. It's delicately sucked under. No nose or head, just a dimple in the water and the fly is gone.
You come up on a heavy fish. You kick out away from the willows and play him in the sunlit shallows, a flash of yellow describing wide arcs around you.
He resists to the end, but you finally get him in the net.
You admire him, revive him, and release him.
You're a little in awe of how your two paths converged on this moment. It couldn't have been more perfectly arranged. Once again you are the beneficiary of serendipity.
You consider kicking back in and going home, leaving the perfection intact.
But you don't. You never do. Life goes on; the long shoreline beckons.
Serendipity is waiting for you.
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