A Heavenly Fish

A short story I wrote for a friend after a trip to the Watauga River.

The fly was olive green, and in the gray cloudlight you could see the shimmer from the tinsel wrapped around its fat inch-long body as it danced feet above the clear blue waters of the Watauga River.

The fisherman stood waist-deep in the ripples whipping the woolly bugger above him four, five, six times. With every forward motion, he shot out a little mo…