Wrinkled hands strike—
Once placid, the viridescent sheen of the loch erupts with frenzied movement. The oldest dance: predator and prey in a deathly waltz. Hands seize hold of the fish, fingers slipping on stippled scales, but in a second, the struggle subsides.
Rory lifts his hands above the water to display his prize. A brown trout summoned by aquatic rapture, a beast of dusky gold.Continue Reading This Story