This is a hard story to tell. The pages are worn and the words are fading. To do it justice, the story will be transcribed straight from the diary. I'll try to give additional details and add context when I can. Pay attention.

I decided to take up a new hobby. I bought a fishing rod. I need something to occupy my time, take my mind off everything. It's also a hobby that will give me time to write. Drive to the jetty; set up my rod, gear and chair; pull out my notebook and write until they bite.

I've gone through the diary. It's pretty wild. Some of the stuff I knew through the stories I was told as a child. Most of the diary was unknown to me, though. I knew a different Eloise Devereaux, a different Lenora Crabtree, and a different Clayton Connors. Now I'm wondering if I even knew them at all.

I never knew The Blue Ridge Coyote. Oh, I heard the stories. I just never knew it was him.