As I began to traverse the moss-covered rocks submerged in the shallows, king salmon and brown trout darted between my feet like slalom skiers shredding through gates. The cold, rushing water compressed my waders as I cautiously crossed the river. In the distance, I saw my dad’s cast spiraling gracefully through the air, the colorful line painting brushstrokes across the sky. I waded on, looking for a good spot of my own, then stopped. Upstream, I spotted a king salmon lying in wait for any food drifting along with the current. I carefully began to release the line, then …
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Fra Noi Embrace Your Inner Italian