Lyle caught fish after fish after fish—more than a dozen that I counted. Bass, bluegill, shark, sturgeon, steelhead, perch, eel, and smelt—all visited his line (or so he said). Coach and I just nodded as he told his tale. We can vouch for the bass and the bluegill. The other "visitors" take some imagination.
It was wearying to watch his casts with his fly-fish pole and to hear him yell, "Fish on!" over and over. I half expected him to start breakdancing after each release. I was using pretty much the same lure, the losing lure after trying worms. I felt so foolish after Coach and I dug and dug yesterday, muddied up, to garner worms so small we weren't sure they could be baited on even the smallest hook.
I was over there and then over there, moving in different spots, consistently unsuccessful. Coach had to share the ladies’-tee perch with Lyle, and we had to witness live the constant reeling-in of his catches. He would later admit he had wished social distancing were 50 yards, not 6! To his credit (and so, so Coach), Coach tried every bait and lure in his four tackle boxes. He even tried hooking a picture of a worm on a hook. He had salmon eggs, ham and eggs, and leftover Easter eggs. Tried ’em all. No shame showed on his face, and, as he cast each hope, he mimicked that thing Barry Bonds does at home plate after a home run: you know, when he gestures from his lips to the heavens. That didn't work either.
Okay, so Lyle left a bit taller today—his swagger, earned. The Hat ruled and I tip mine to him!
Notice Lyle behind Coach giving advice and encouragement!
Here Lyle assures Coach he can't catch the virus from his shadow!
Here Coach is laughing and happy because the fish took his bait! I had that same elation a few times. (How pathetic we were)
Here is The Fisherman looking across the pond at Riva stretched out on his lawn chair.
