Shaq’s Perspective: 90 degrees in the shade on a humid afternoon and wrh and I were heading out to a trout stream. Any self-respecting trout would have his nose gill deep into a spring or have traveled to the nearest cool tributary. We had decided that this would be a guaranteed fishing expedition and could not cancel for the next one we would take together might be a while. As we discussed strategy in a convenience store parking lot we agreed on an unconventional game plan. Something we had been hatching for weeks. We will head for the lower river. Our quarry will be wary, spooky as trout. Our flies will be scrutinized and if are were lucky, sucked in ever so slightly. On the hook-set, the water will explode. One will act as spotter, the other will lay delicate casts in still water with the brutal heat and sun beating us down. Our glasses will fog up and sweat will sting our eyes as we pull long gulps of water from our camelbacks. Tight lines will straighten violently, ripping from our fingers and will be pulled loudly from the reels. Tippets will part from the flies and some big fish will be landed. Everything will go according to plan. It's going to be sweet.