They say that tomorrow is promised to no one, but yesterday is forever.
On these long winter days which turn into long winter nights I sometimes drift back to some of most memorable times in life. Memory is a funny thing. It's like a closet. There's stuff in there and although it may be dusty it will still shine clear when dusted off.
This little fly shop on the banks of a Pennsylvania trout river is where I found a fly that has been in my box for thirty years. I never knew the fly's name until recently. I was fishing the river and noticed lots of dead flies on the side of the building. I went inside and met the owner of the shop. We talked for awhile and he suggested I try a wet fly that worked well in the river. I'm sure he told me the name but I had forgotten it. Well I fished that fly in that river and soon found out what the term sore arms meant. The river still flows but sadly the shop has gone.