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After years of growing up, still fly fishing.

    At 15 and 16 years old, and just before the great transitions in life, we were still glued to the forest. Any day in the woods was a good day. And, fishing? That would make it the best day of all.
    We were about to start our second hot dog when we heard a crashing in the woods. All we could see when we turned to look was the end of a long fly fishing rod waving back and forth above the bushes. "You gata doga boys?" We gave him one and it was gone in two bites. "Grazie," he said, and he was gone. We just called him the Italian Fisherman.