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It was the spot, I knew where to look

The spot for a cast in this gentle moving brook

Just off the bank where the current bends

The place for a long drift with an occasional mend

The spot was an eddy with bubbles and foam

A perfect feeding place for my dry fly to roam

A glance to the elements, I pondered the hatch

Then reached for a bug that was hooked to my patch

Fingers tie a clinch knot, ever so tight

Terrestrial chosen and ready to take flightI knelt for a bit , watching for a rise

Kept my shadow to myself , Salmon trutta can be so wise

Finally a sip , subtle rings show him there

Now it's up to me , natural presentation to make him stare

I stand and I load , I haul and it goes

Tight loop above the rings , in a drift for his nose

I wait for the take, but he passes on the bite

Something about it to him did not seem right

I mumbled some words , fisherman’s angst I suppose

Time to head upstream. In search of who knows

- A Poem by Patrick Hancock.

March 28, 2020.

Patrick who was one of our guests this last season, shares this lovely poem that he wrote. It was a delight to have him and his wife and son stay with us!