by Nome Buckman
Tossing rodent replicas on the water at night, not seeing a bloody thing. Hoping to hear your fly go splat on the water somewhere and not hung up on the bank across stream or snagged in the trees from your back cast. Your other senses are heightened to make up for your lack of vision. Heart pounding, tingling with anticipation, waiting for the electricity of the killing kind to touch your line. Fingers poised, ready to hear a watery explosion on your kabob offering as you swim it back to you. If you are lucky, you feel a cannonball hit your fly. This is essentially mousing. Sound like fun?
Photo by nome buckman