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Carly and Betsy’s fish each outweighed either of Henderson’s.
He looked actively offended when Carly told him she’d used an off-the-shelf Adams. He’d custom-designed and made his fly that morning before anyone was up because the hole below the larch definitely need a streamer, but not a bunny streamer, and he’d…
She’d merely shrugged as his explanations quickly dove into a netherworld. He was one of those fisherman, off-the-deep-end nerdy about it. She and her father had simply fished. He’d taught her that the fun was the important part of the whole process.
Henderson tried to argue that his pair of trout combined at least weighed more than Betsy’s, though perhaps not as much as Carly’s.
She linked her arm through Betsy’s and offered Henderson a cocky two-fingered salute, much as h
