I went fly fishing once. My brother probably should have shut his zipper before I cast, 'cause there was this god-awful scream and the next thing I knew my bro was passing me overhead and landed about 25 feet out, right in the spot by the bank I was tryin' to drop a Coachman into. He was thrashin' around something wonderful, but I pulled back and re-cast, figgerin' he'd scared all the fish. Cast upstream, and let 'er drift down. Cleaned a whole staircase of little waterfalls, weren't none over six feet high, but to hear him tell it later my brother suffered the agonies of hell goin' over 'em. Well, when he came floating down I saw him and told him to get off my line, but he said some things that weren't true, so I cut the line just before he disappeared over Holycrap Falls. Didn't see him agin until it was time to go home and I'd et his lunch. I limited out on brookies and he limited out too.