Whit Duncan crept slowly around a shoulder-high mass of brambles, making sure his bamboo fly rod didn't get caught in its branches.
As he reached the far side of the bushes, he looked to his right and saw a beautiful vision. The creek he was fishing was just finishing making a slight bend, and right where the stream bed straightened out, the water on the far side had scoured out a nearly perfect-looking fishing hole under the trunk of a large willow tree.
The clear water rippled over a ridge of large rocks, slipped under the tree and then slowly meandered through a pool that got increasingly shallow as it fed downstream. The pool was about 15 yards wide and about 20 yards long.
He couldn't wait to toss a fly into that sweet spot.
Whit was a newcomer to the area, having been transferred in his job just a month ago. He didn't want to have to move, but he did know this area was known for good fly fishing, so he figured he'd make the best of it.
He was 28 years old, single, and preferred to spend his free time chasing trout rather than hitting the social scene. He wasn't much of a ladies man anyway - despite keeping his 6-foot-2 body in good shape. He just didn't have the bad boy looks women were drawn to. He wore his blond hair short, which made his ears seem even bigger than they were, and he had little confidence around the ladies.
But that didn't matter now, because he was on the hunt for fish.
His boss had heard that this particular stream, while way out in the country, had some nice spots, so Whit drove the 40 minutes from his apartment, found a place to park off the two-lane road and had been steadily working his way downstream.
He stayed low in the high grass and cautiously approached the pool. On the bank behind the hole was a thick copse of pine trees on some ground that slowly rose to a plateau and he could see a white fence that must signal the end of a farmer's pasture.
Whit flicked his dry fly with a deft touch and let it slowly drift past the tree. He was shocked when he did not get a hit.
He was even more surprised when his next 10 casts had a similar result. So he reeled in his line and made a switch to a streamer fly.
On his first cast with the new fly, he was grateful that he was paying close attention, because the tip of his rod took a hard, sudden pull, and then the fight was on. After about five seconds of pulling hard, a nice, fat brown trout broke the surface, then crashed back into the water.
Whit was thrilled. He took his time, hoping the fish wouldn't tangle his line in a tree root, and gradually wore the brownie out. He coaxed the spent fish toward the bank and scooped him into his net.
It was beautiful native fish, stretching to about 15 inches, and while the trout lay flat regaining its strength, Whit reached into his vest, got out his phone and took a quick photo. Then he held the fish in the shallow water until it recovered, and watched it swim away.
He washed his hands and was just standing up again when he heard a low clapping sound.
On the other side of the stream, he watched as a young girl slowly walked out of the pine trees, clapping her hands gently. It was hard to figure her age, but he guessed late teens. She had on a black-and-red buffalo flannel shirt, loose-fitting bib overalls and work boots.
As she got closer, Whit also noted her flowing red hair pulled back in a ponytail and her light skin tone ... and one other thing. She was, ah, plain looking. No other way to put it. Her face was just plain, and that was being kind. Her eyes were set a little too close together, her nose was a touch too big and her lips were definitely too large.
But she was smiling, although that didn't help much.
"That was a nice fish, and I thank you for putting it back," she said. "You look like you know what you're doing."
"Well, I've been fishing since I was a kid and I always put 'em back."
"I've seen a few guys fishing here over the years, and not all of them do, even though they're supposed to."
"Do you fish?"
"Not really. But that's my daddy's farm up there and this is one of my favorite places to hang out. I swim here when it's warm enough. My name's Janie."
"Hi, I'm Whit. This is the first time I've ever fished this stream - it's beautiful."
"It is, and it's too far away from anywhere else to get that many fishermen. You can keep fishing. I just like to watch, if that's OK."
"Sure."
As Whit walked slowly back to the head of the pool, Janie sat down under the tree and watched him closely. He wasn't quite sure what to make of her, but she seemed very friendly. She wasn't a girl he'd ever take a second look at normally, but she seemed nice.
His next cast was a little short, but his third put the fly right in the current past the tree and he felt a jolt as another trout took the bait. This fish wasn't nearly as big, but the 10-inch brookie put up a good fight before Whit released him.
"You're pretty good at this, aren't you?" Janie said.
"Well, I'm OK, but this just seems like a perfect spot."
"If you keep going downstream, there are a few more good places, but they're off our land."
"Maybe I'll get to them next time - I've got to start heading back now. I like this stream, though. I could come back tomorrow morning and try them out."
"Good. Maybe I'll see you here again. And maybe I'll bring a picnic basket."
With that, Janie stood up, turned around and disappeared into the trees again. Whit wasn't quite sure what to make of her, but she seemed harmless.
Whit got an earlier start the next day, which turned out to be a really nice, warm and sunny day. He parked his car at the same spot and walked all the way to the great spot he'd finished at the previous day and kept going downstream, wanting to check out the places the girl was talking about.
She was right. He found three very nice stretches of water within the next hour - one that had some really nice, slow riffles, one that formed on the other side of some large rocks and another that cut under a bank. By the time he'd reached the third one and then worked back to where he started, he'd caught and landed seven nice trout.
He had already caught two more brown trout out of the original spot before he thought about the girl again. He wasn't sure he even wanted to see her again, but if nothing else he could thank her for suggesting he try downstream.
About the time he changed flies again and got ready to cast, he saw Janie walking out of the trees, and damned if she wasn't carrying a picnic basket. She also looked a lot different than yesterday - instead of the baggy flannel shirt and bib outfit, Janie had on a pair of tight jean shorts, a red T-shirt and sneakers.
"Good afternoon, Whit. I was hoping I'd see you here."
"Hi, Janie. Those spots you told me about worked out well. I think I've caught nine trout so far today. This is such a nice stream."
"Glad to hear it. Do you wanna have some lunch? I've got some sandwiches and stuff."
"Ah, sure, that'd be nice."
Whit waded to the bottom of the hole and climbed up on the far bank. Janie waited for him to get close by, then said, "C'mon, we'll go my special place."
As she started walking back into the trees, Whit couldn't help but notice that despite her less-than-spectacular face (and that was being nice), Janie was pretty well put together. Her ass looked pretty good in her tight shorts as he followed her.
They ended up walking past about 12-15 pine trees, then up a short rise to a plateau that sat halfway between the trees and the farm's fence at the top. The plateau was covered in grass. The back half was shaded because of some big rocks at the top, but in the sunny area, Janie had spread out a blanket.
"This is my favorite place in the world," she said, as she put the basket down and sat on the blanket. "It's so nice and peaceful. You can hear the creek and see it through the trees, and when it's nice like today I can lay in the sun. I've never seen anybody out here, except for a few fishermen, but they can't see me unless I want them to."
