When we learn to fish for trout
We do not stamp we do not shout,
We learn the way to stalk our prey
There are so many different ways.
In streams we cast our tiny flies
And hope the cautious trout will rise.
The dry fly fisher stalks his prey
He thinks that is the only way.
Moorland streams and peaty rivers
Is where the wet fly man delivers.
Stillwater fishers prefer the lure
even when the fishing is dour.
They thrash the lake, will not relent
For them the carbon rod was Heaven sent.
Brown or rainbow makes no difference
They cast and cast and take their chances.
Written by Dave Cammiss
