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Social media, fish envy and FOMO
Exploring beads, bobbers and other other affronts to our idiosyncratic sense of flyfishing aesthetics.
Leaving the big city behind, getting back home to sleepy small town life. Reversing down the Telegraph road, away from gloom.
I am not sure how your glove can fall off in an accident. But I have witnessed it happen. The river was up, you see, and some cross like spring chickens, and others don’t, because….well because they aren’t. Every time we get together in a group, George expresses his surprise to Tony, that he is still with us. Tony, being the good sport that he is, takes it in his stride. Knowing this about Tony, when he fell in the river, exercising his right to do so (as a non-spring-chicken), I though it best to just take photos for George.
It was Monday 13th April 2015. PD and I were on the lower water at Kelvin Grove, having a spectacularly unsuccessful day. It was just one of those days where it didn’t come together. It was also the first day of our trip, and I suppose we hadn’t found our mojo. Later in the day a pressing wind started to blow, and a million little polar leaves would shower down into the water, meaning we would hook leaves on every cast. We had set off with unbridled enthusiasm, and walked so far down stream, that I guess you could say