Compliments

Trout Whisperer

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  • Category Hunting Stories
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  • Prostaff Member Trout Whisperer

My daughter gets out of the car, it's been quite some time since Ive seen her. She smiles and we slam into each other. Her hug tells me everything.

Mike and I have fished most of this spring together, we’ve had our successes and we’ve had some trying days. One day, I just couldn't get there, and we both new the steelhead season was rapidly coming to a close. On the cell phone, he gives me the fishing report; he hooked and landed a really nice fish. The once in a lifetime fish. In my head I was thinking, I wish I could have been there. He said to me, it's a nice fish, but it's no fun fishing without you. As a grown man, I felt like a third grader and he was my buddy.

A professor from a rather prestigious university once wrote to me, ya know what, I don't know one end of a fish from the other, but I like your fish tales. I’m not a writer, I’m not a Shakespeare kinda guy, and I have countless paragraphs where other folks tell me without mincing words, Mr. Trout whisperer, at best you should only be allowed to line bird cages. I write, only because I gotta get all this out and Every time I get a nasty gram, I read it, then I take the professors little paragraph, and read that. Some far off, never known or met by me professor, heals a lot.

So there's this woman, she gets me, I get her, she's smokin hot, and I truly adore her, were dating several years ago, and I get the impression she likes me, and after several months she sez to me, if I ever caught you with another woman, I wouldn't hurt the woman, but I’d kill you. It stands even today as the best back handed compliment, as a guy, this guy me, ever got from a woman. She didn't say the three words, I love you, but with her little chilling oration, she told me flat out, she loved me.

Finally, one of the grand dames in my life, who I don't see often, we don't talk a bunch, and she offers very little counsel. She plays it all very close to the vest took the time to write to me, and its important to note, writing is one of the poorest forms of communication, you hear no voice, no tone, all that missing inflection and just the persons gestures, sadly, gone, and as humans we text, tweet, email more now than ever. We are our own worst enemies, but she wrote, just nine words, and warmed me to my core. The trout whisperer.

Posted by Trout Whisperer under Hunting Stories on June 3, 11 08:18 AM | Permalink

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