Put Your Trust In …

I've been fishing for more years than I can remember. Never in all that time have I been asked for my license. This incredible run of luck has never encouraged me to not buy a license. It’s a small price to pay, I think, for all the good it does. So I had my non-resident license in my pocket this time, as usual.
I was in the middle of the Batten Kill, on the New York state side, west of the border with Vermont, working the four miles of catch and release water, dazzled by the scenery and beginning to wonder if my toes had fallen off since my feet no longer seemed attached to my legs. I had not seen another human for hours. I had that creepy feeling on the back of my neck, however, like someone was about to criticize my backcast. I looked over my shoulder and there stood a guy from, I think, U.S. Fish and Wildlife!
He asked how the fishing was going, that sort of stuff. Then we exchanged small talk about the weather and how gorgeous this place was. The usual stuff guys do, but less obvious than dogs. Then he says, “Ya know, I have to ask you about your license, but first I'd like to ask you to do a favor for me.”
Hmmm. “Sure,” says I. Then he says, “I really don't want to climb into my waders and walk out there, so would you take this thermometer and hold it about a foot below the surface and tell me the temperature?”
“Sure,” says I. It was 47 degrees! No wonder my feet were so cold. And no wonder the trout weren't moving. They're too smart to expend much energy below 50 degrees.
So the guy records the temperature then says, “You do have a license, right?”
“Sure,” says I. And before I could remember which of the 27 pockets on my fishing vest it was in, he says thanks and was gone.
Now, given that fishermen have an undeserved reputation for stretching the truth on occasion, this guy was either quite trusting or he was a fly fisher.