Fishing with my dying father

Fishing with my dying father

On the North Norfolk coast, dawn is more sensory than visual.Sea lavender and samphire engulf you before the bite of the wind reminds you of nature’s power. As the sun rises above the horizon, my father and I cross the salt marshes, the light revealing tidal creeks winding through the mudflats. This time, though, I know it is our last trip together. In angling, the tippet is the thinnest section of line, the point most likely to fail. Every step…