Like many anglers, my first exposure to Bob White’s art was through John Gierach’s writing. Then, after years of staring at Bob’s paintings, I finally worked up the courage to ask him for an interview for a story I was writing about art and fly fishing.

A chilly autumn breeze filters through white oak leaves. They’re on the cusp of turning from the tired green of late summer to autumn russet. Within the gentle rustles is another sound. This one is not so easily identified.