Mike's boots sloshed along the path with that unique, semi-erotic sound that results from the stretching and bending of wet fabric and rubber. He turned slightly and smiled in my direction. "Man," he said, "I was worried that we were going to get wet for a second there." A fat drop of water fell from the brim of his ball cap and joined its brethren below.
Clouds enveloped the foothills that bordered the creek and everything looked mystic, otherworldly, soft yet impenetrable; an inviting dreamscape of unknown intentions which cooed and soothed and beckoned these anglers toward moving water and a chance at beating the inevitability of what happens when atmospheric water vapor becomes heavy enough to fall under gravity.
In other words, Mike and I went fishing and it rained on us all fucking day.
Mike and I went fishing and didn't give a damn about no wetness.
Mike and I went fishing and punched stained water in the face.
Mike and I kicked ass.
-Alex who thanks Mike for the ride, good conversation, the quality time on cool water and the towel. I like a man who thinks ahead.