The punter evening shift was hiking down as the the punter day shift – the Dark One and your author – were hiking up. Their waders were all dry and did not have goose shit on them. Their hands did not smell like fish slime and beef jerky, and were not coated with the earthly residue of mashed-up midge larvae or mayflies squished on the wing.
“Get any?” the evening shift asked.
“Nymphs or dries?”
Ninja, please. Do you see any Thingamabobbers?