When Wayne Shelby isn’t guiding for turkeys, hogs, or gators on his employer’s ranch, he’s fattening cattle and fixing fences. For him, finding spare time is like finding a pot o’ gold. But I asked him if he’d like to go fishing one evening anyway.
“I think I’ll go,” he said as he wiped his sweaty brow with a forearm and glanced at the baitcaster in my hand. “If we can fish my way.” “Sure,” I said, surprised and unsure whether it was a joke. “And what way is that?”
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