It was always suspicioned
That he had contracted the ailment from his grandfather,
Who had suffered from its chronic form his entire life,
And was therefore contagious.

They had played together
In cold mountain brooks
And caught native brookies
With their hands and rudimentary fishing tackle.

As he matured, the fever intensified:
He moved on to bigger streams and bigger fish.
He soon learned to outwit browns and rainbows alike;
No trout were safe from him!

He became enamored with fishing tackle:
He would do anything to catch a nice trout.
He traveled anywhere and everywhere in their pursuit;
He even took up fly fishing!

But, then, like his grandfather, he grew old.
He no longer wished to travel long distance to catch trout;
He longed for simpler times;
He longed for small streams and native brook trout!

And so, his fever abated:
He returned to small mountain brooks
In search of those precious native brook trout,
And his grandsons went with him!


By Lloyd Barnhart, West Sand Lake, NY