The other day, PD came up the river bank to where I was standing and bummed a fly off me. Nothing unusual about that. But then, after I handed him a #18 nymph, I had to watch as he squinted, and cocked his head to one side, and held his hands out far in front of him.
(this was before he got specs, but I think it was a #8 woolly bugger he was struggling with)
I obliged and lent him a spike to clear the hook eye, but the show continued.
“Give it here, you old crock”, and I had a bash. I had the fly threaded in no time at all. I wound the tippet around seven times and then I couldn’t get the point through the loop in a clinch knot. Damned thing went all fuzzy on me!
I used my trick, where every time I think it is through, I waggle the end to see if it is captured in place. It wasn’t. I tried again. At that point PD cracked a joke and my hand started to shake with my half suppressed laughter.
Neil arrived and offered to save both of us old crocks from our misery, but pride and determination took over, and I willed that slender bastard through the gap.
Success. Spectacles order delayed by another week.