Not a lot about him could have been termed hip or politically correct. Heâd spent time in the navy and it showed, both in the color of his humor and his occasional choice of speech. He cared little for matters sartorial. Yet his eyes radiated warmth and mischief, creased with the lines that come with regular laughter. His handshake along with his gaze drew you close, its warmth lingering long after its release. People came from near and far just to fish with him, to spend a few hours with him on the banks of a river whose mood and nuance he knew better than anybody. Anglers half his age struggled to keep up with his goat-like agility and energy as he negotiated steep banks, hopped boulder to boulder, or stood mid-stream, slight frame planted firmly against the current.