He is a ghost. He is human ectoplasm. He is here and then he is gone and then you aren’t sure he was ever here to begin with. He befriends all types of people and whispers advice to them at a boat ramp before the sun is up. Or else he does not speak at all to anyone ever, except to those that know him best, if anyone can really know him. He is an adamant enigma elusive for the sake of elusiveness, which makes him desirable, although for what, no one completely understands. He is much smarter than you think but perhaps not as smart as he thinks, if only because he thinks too much about being smart. He admits to nothing much. He denies little and so the legend grows. You hear Boney Leg stories. They get around as he gets around. What you hear is fishing lore, possibly embellished, certainly superfluous. Boney Leg you hear is gentle, respectful and never pushy but don’t fuck with him. He never forgets.