Clear Creek. Wending through the sycamores, stumbling over hedge apples, in a rush to take advantage of the last of the good weather. Still wet wading, though the water is noticeably colder. The smallmouth evade me all the way to the island and back. So as darkness drifts down I tie on the chubby by a long, slow pool and find the only fish willing to give me the time of day.
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