I was riding back down the access road at Waterton Canyon, one fine day, watching the fly-fishermen swing their rods. Eventually, I pulled up at one spot to watch a guy cast, for a while.
From where I was, on the road above the river, I could see all the way to the bottom of the riverbed. The guy fishing had a much more oblique angle, of course, and could only see the surface of the water. That meant that he couldn't see what I could see; three big trout hanging out on the downstream side of some rocks.
I sat on my bike, watching the fisherman's fly land 10 feet to one side of the three fish, over and over. I considered telling him where the trout were hanging out, but I was enjoying watching them hold their position against the current.
Eventually, the guy plopped his lure down a few feet from the biggest of the three fish. The fish swam toward it, seemingly sniffed it, then swam away from the fly and back to his original position.
I got back onto the seat of my mountain bike and continued on. I wish, sometimes, that I was as savvy as that old trout had been, when it comes to passing up the fish hooks that life casts toward me.