In one of the cruel ironies of life, my onset of insomnia occurred within days of my retirement. When I finally had lots of time to hunt and fish, I couldn’t get enough sleep to enjoy it! Over the years, medications and careful planning have enabled me to enjoy a few mornings a week, but not without some effort. This has always had the effect of tickling the funny bone of my oldest fishing buddy, Milford.

The first time I met Wong she was battling a late November coho. Using all of her strength, she could barely move the big buck. Pull as she might, the huge shiny mass with the hooked jaw seemed to be getting the best of her. Even the cold east wind wasn’t enough to cool her brow, and the effort was taking a toll. Beads of sweat were forming on her brow and she was gritting her teeth with the effort. Tiny feet clad in rubber hip boots were losing traction as they drove into the slick clay of the streamside.

With a flick of his wrist, Bob sent the wooden bobber and shrimp upstream over the pool that was dark with salmon. As the bright yellow orb floated through the school, some unseen force jerked it down, deep under the surface. Slamming the long Loomis float rod upward, Bob was into a fish that had no desire to be bothered. Leaping skyward the big red-tinged salmon shot across the shallow river.

Hanging on the wall of my outdoors room are several of my grandfather’s old fishing rods. Most are thick bamboo, fiberglass or even steel construction. In comparison, my rods, mostly made by my favorite brand, G. Loomis, are thin shafts of synthetic graphite, with much less diameter and bulk.