<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8" standalone="yes"?><rss version="2.0" xmlns:atom="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom"><channel><title>Nature on Sunday Evening Review</title><link>https://sundayeveningreview.com/tags/nature/</link><description>Recent content in Nature on Sunday Evening Review</description><generator>Hugo</generator><language>en-us</language><lastBuildDate>Tue, 02 Jun 2026 06:00:00 -0500</lastBuildDate><atom:link href="https://sundayeveningreview.com/tags/nature/index.xml" rel="self" type="application/rss+xml"/><item><title>Fly Fishing for Beginners: What I Learned the Summer I Turned 63</title><link>https://sundayeveningreview.com/living/fly-fishing-for-beginners/</link><pubDate>Tue, 02 Jun 2026 06:00:00 -0500</pubDate><guid>https://sundayeveningreview.com/living/fly-fishing-for-beginners/</guid><description>&lt;p>The first thing Connor told me, standing on the bank of the Davidson River in the Pisgah National Forest at six-thirty in the morning in July, was that I was going to throw the line behind me as much as in front of it. He said this like it was useful information. It wasn&amp;rsquo;t. Nobody who has never held a fly rod can imagine what throwing a line behind yourself looks and feels like until they&amp;rsquo;ve done it. I have played golf for thirty years. I know how to move my arms. What I did not know was that fly casting has nothing in common with any movement I had ever made in my life.&lt;/p></description></item></channel></rss>