Mike a look of amused pity typically reserved for Americans who are clearly out of their element.
"So is this." Offering him the rod. "Try it if ya like"
"Really? I don’t mean to interrupt."
"Sure, go ahead, its ne bother."
"Great, thanks! My name's, Mike by the way."
"Hello Mike," the older Scot said.
Mike stepped out onto a 4ft by 10ft foot stone casting pier built more than century ago to provide the angler with a perfect swing through known holding water. The Scot called out. "You're goin' teh wanna cast downstream of the far rock and let it drift about 10 yards and then reel it in along the swing."
"Sounds familiar” Mike said. He put his ear bud back in and he threw the heavy gold spoon across the angry river, counted to four and began reeling in.
Bam! The slimed up cork slid in his hands and the rod tip arced downward following the direction of the fish. Mike whooped at the top of his lungs (causing the old Scot to grimace) and then yelled, "You gotta be shittin’ me!"
"Oh aye, they're in there." The old Scot said without a hint of emotion. "Be careful now lad."
In the next instant, across the chop and spray, a 7lb ocean fresh, bright silver, Atlantic salmon burst into the wind…and gracefully threw the spoon.
"Fuck! Did you see that?!" Mike yelled. (drawing another grimace from the Scot).
Mike took out the ear buds and handed the rod back. "Wow!" he said. "First cast…That was fun. A really nice fish…."
"Aye, a grilse. A young one, comin' in on the tide from its first winter at sea."
"Cool. Well I guess that lure works…" sounding sarcastic and cocky. "You know, where I come from though, it’s a little cheesy to fish with a lure."
Mike cheerfully reached his hand out to offer a handshake, completely oblivious to what he had just said.
The Scot sized Mike up, pressed his tough hand into Mike's and said simply, “I don't care Lad, I own eight miles of this river and I can do anythin’ I like."
Adrian's first steelhead taken on his greaseliner. Photo by Steve Turner
Adrian's Greaseliner. Photo by Steve Turner