I was wearing Army fatigues and standing below Virginia’s Natural Bridge when I caught my first trout on a fly rod. I threw my clumsy cast under the watchful eye of George Washington’s initials and the Department of Wildlife foreman, Gill, who directed our efforts at clearing overgrowth and warmly told me, “Johnson, you’re a gangly son’a bitch.” I caught a plump rainbow trout that was stocked for a youth event (normally fishing isn’t allowed at Natural Bridge) but had evaded the panoply of bright-colored Powerbait that proved too alluring for many of his siblings to resist. My friend and fellow VMI cadet and fly-fishing instructor, Mason, patted me on the back. And so it began.
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