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21 Flying Red Point Faith in the fly is what the fishers call it. Casting, casting, until casting becomes believing what we offer—a twisting of feather and fur around a steel hook—will entice what we think we know to reveal itself. Down on the rocky bottom, we think they must be there, big ones hiding themselves until such time as our methodical casting calls them out. The fly, our hopeful emissary, our homemade notion, our wrong-headed people’s way of always getting on the wrong end of things. ...

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