Clay Hutmacher Jr., twenty-five, stood knee-deep in the Twelve Sleep River, casting for trout with a determined look on his face and an engagement ring in his pocket. He was twelve miles from the town of Saddlestring, on the ranch his father managed and that, he hoped, he would take over some day. . . .
The wonderful thing about fly-fishing, he'd discovered, was that it was all-consuming. The tactics, the gear, reading the water, the choice of flies, keeping his balance on smooth round river rocks—all of that fully occupied his mind and pushed out other concerns.
Fly-fishing was like sex in that way.
-C. J. Box, Three-Inch Teeth: A Joe Pickett Novel
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