As I scuttled down the rocky bank amid the chilly, biting air of a cloudy November morning, my ears perked to the sound of the rushing water coming from the stream below. The musical dance of the crystal-clear water weaving in, out, and over the rocks and boulders served as a siren song. This song, as though it were played by the Pied Piper of Hamelin himself, has led many an angler to the water…
