It was a glorious evening in the middle of June. The weather was warm, the lake was calm, and the daily coronation of the sun crowning the western horizon was about to begin. On the water, in the shallows, small swirls and little boils were everywhere as bluegills were coming to the surface to gulp the mayflies hatching there.
As for me, I sat at the edge of a dock with my feet dangling in the water, a fishing pole in my hand, and several plump bluegills swimming in a five-gallon pail at my side.
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