me with a pile of fish buried in the sand tellin everyone walkin by that there were no fish as I am letting a fish run with my bail open talkin to them.................fishin in waders and a t-shirt and no korkers and light rods, lines, and leaders...........All the people I used to fish with and talk to, the comaraderie of it all..........sittin in Nelson's every morn listen
to the tourists talk about all the fish they caught and where so I knew where to go that night...........the whole easiness of it................Not just finding one or two fish in a night, findin PILES of them at a time...........Watchin Top Knot skip down into the water without his leg to take his mornin' bath and then hitchin a ride off the beach from him sittin on his cooler rack.......LISTENING to the Old Guard talking about THEIR glory days when things were slow or inbetween tides......
But most of all, I miss the smell of the salt water, sand and pine trees.......
They truly were Glory Days............
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