Dear Mr. Fenn,
I am a new searcher who just read the chapter in your book called Flywater. My father coincidentally has the very same book on his book shelf. As I thumbed through the well worn pages caused by my father’s reverence for the subject, I noticed a curious passage in the Afterword.
I can’t remember the exact words, but the author ran into a young man wearing a smile and a sunburn, and had a few dry flies stuck in his baseball cap. The author asked the young man about his choice of flies and the stretch of river he had fished. The young man said “Can’t tell you.”
Was the young man, YOU, Mr. Fenn?
Truest Regards, Iris of The Bend
It was not me Iris, sorry. f
Best of luck with all you seek! Always Treasure the Adventure!