I’m walking behind my fishing buddies when the thought suddenly hits me: “We are a mess, a platoon of misery.” The name of the place is very fitting, translated from my native tongue into English, “The last line of defence” and we are going to defend it. Just in front of me is the bricklayer. He’s been shovelling concrete, loading bricks and climbing ladders for more than 35 years. It’s always a wonder to me how he is able to just lift a fishing rod after a day’s work. Sometimes he has been moving more than four tons of concrete. He doesn’t complain, but you know for sure that when we return to the cars after a night in the water, he will swear when he steps out of his waders, his feet and legs always spasm.
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