Worming his way through the brush, Wood had flipped a fly into the gravy train of salmon. It didn't work right away. But ultimately, a pig king had sauntered over to slurp it. No casting, no stripping was required--you just had to keep the fly away from the tykes and hold on. Some of the fish were enormous. Dangling my rod over the salmon, I tried five drifts, 10, no takers, 15 drifts with the pink leech jigged fractions of an inch from the mouths of fish. They stared, looking, looking, l-o-o-o-king, until one sucked it down.