Telling Stories
A TALE OF TWO RIVERS Bramble Boy fishes with the attentiveness of a coked-up heron. If you are able to stand motionless for long enough to catch a fleeting glimpse of him working a run, down on one knee with his arm extended, it brings to mind the wellpractised routines of the Tai Chi master. His every movement is frugal, crisp and explicit. His forearm and wrist rotate slightly, the supple tip of the long rod flexes and then straightens, his pair of flies are delivered with effortless precision and are tucked into the edge of a seam. With his lips pursed and eyes unblinking he follows them with the rod tip before repeating the action. It’s like watching a robotic assembly line; not exactly exciting but sort of pleasing in a difficult to describe way. Every so often his elbow almost imperceptibly tightens and every so often this movement is inhibited by the resistance of a fish that he first effortlessly turns towards slack water and then in no time at all eases into his net. He releases it gently and without drama, inspects his flies, meditatively checks his ludicrously
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