I used to see Pete at church almost every Sunday. He would be on a bench in the main hallway, telling stories to anyone who would listen. He knew that I wrote articles for magazines and newspapers about the outdoors. When he saw me, he always wanted me to come over so he could tell me his fish stories.
Pete would start with, “It was midnight on a hot summer day. The moon was full, bats are diving in the night sky, and fog shrouds the lake. I was out fishing by myself in an old wooden boat. The night was filled with sounds. Crickets chirping, owls hooting and frogs croaking. So I take my old fishing rod and throw a top-water bait toward some bushes next to a log. I let it settle, then start reeling. It gurgles and wiggles back toward me. Suddenly…READ MORE.
by Larry Whiteley
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