I have a recurring dream that always starts the same way: I’m standing on the bank of a small stream that I know is home to big trout. It’s springtime, there are bugs everywhere, big browns are coming to the surface to slurp them up and I make one perfect cast after another—only to be refused time and again.
Then, finally, I move a big one. He eats and the fight is on. I see him in all his spotted, golden glory...