What Michael Copperman’s Fishing Lessons Reveal About Life Will Surprise You
I took my pole to the edge of the ramp. The forest servicemen had finished and were taking a break, standing with arms crossed by the truck, which they’d pulled up the bank. I reared back my arms and threw my spinner—but missed the release button. The line swung forward and around and boomeranged back toward me, and I jumped back and felt a bite in my hand and then a rising pain. I looked down and there was my lure, stuck deep in the meat of my fourth finger. Uncle Bill hurried to me, grasped my hand, and then let out a gasp.
