John looked back and glared at me through his copper lenses. He was frustrated, exasperated and worn out. I’d just told John, for the third time, to drift his fly on the inside of a large midstream boulder. But his cast and the resulting drift were far away from the mark and even further away from any chance of hooking a trout. So I started to speak the sentence again, a little lighter this time, with a little more empathy.
“Just drift your fly on the inside of . . .”
John interrupted. He shook his head in anger and leaned in toward me.
“Man, if I could see the fly, I’d put it there.”