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Fish are like sex; tons around but I never seem to get any.

Aye......with a bit of cloud cover and a good wave!



M

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The sun pushed dark spokes of melt and sparkle
Across the fields of hoar. And the river steamed -
Flint-olive.


http://northcountryangler.blogspot.com

Not for fishing

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When the bugle sounds The last parade
and the light grows dim in the eye,
Make sure you say at the pearly gates
That you've come for the evening rise.