A balmy July evening when just to be out on the river was a pleasure, and never mind the trout. The evening rise was a little slow to arrive, as reluctant as the sky turning from day, but I was in no hurry. Till after an hour or more the trout began to come up, kissing the surface in ever-increasing circles. But could I get a touch? Not a thing. Now, my guess was they were after the Yellow May Spinner. And of course I had one in my flybox, just the one, but broken. That's from teaching my young nephew to cast in the garden - no barb and no point. No point whatsoever in using it then. Or was there? I tied on the hookless fly and cast it out. There was a confident swirl almost immediately. The line tightened briefly; then, of course, nothing. I smiled. Point proven. Oh well, there's always the one that won't get away - a dram of Edradour. Edradour …enjoy life's small victories.