The River of Ghosts
Preserving the Future of Fly fishing The scotch was hammering in my temples as I forced myself out of bed and blundered into the shower. Less than four hours ago, opening yet another bottle of 18-year-old Glen-what-ever-it-was had seemed like an excellent idea. Now, in the cold light of day, I could see that reckless impulse for the lamentable decision that it was.
By: MATT HARRIS
