When I Was a Boy 



stopped. Thinking something had gotten my bait, I 

 pulled up to see and then it happened. The whole 

 pool seemed to explode, and something went tearing 

 off with my tackle my first small-mouth bass. It 

 was all over in a second, and all that was left was the 

 butt of the rod, the reel, some experience and my most 

 tragic fishing moment. 



As I look back on a life, thank God, fairly full of 

 adventure in the great outdoors, nothing ever seems 

 so tragic to me as that walk home, contemplating the 

 loss of my first tackle, my first bass, and wondering 

 where on earth I would ever get another silk line. 



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