From "Gallegos by Foot: Under the Bridge and Under the Radar"

However, in the moments after the bus pulled away in its cloud of dust, I began to feel the unmistakable sensation of eyes on me. I turned and found that the eyes belonged to a thin man sitting in a wooden chair propped up on two legs against the wall of the dilapidated building. He wore jeans and sandals and looked a little rough with his unkempt hair and moustache. The business end of a mate cup stuck out of his mouth – basically a metal straw coming up out of a steeping mechanism that looked like a small personal hookah. He was looking at me steadily, but with a shade of a smile. So, feeling that my cover had been blown, I said Good Afternoon, and he replied in kind.

“Well. Have you come here to fish for the sea trout?” he asked. (Actually he said ‘truchas del sur’).

I said yes, and after a long pause he told me, “Right now, there’s quite a big bastard holding just under the bridge. But he won’t take.”

As he sat silently with his eyes narrowed toward the river, it occurred to me to wonder if the man had actually tried to catch the fish under the bridge, or if he knew these facts extra-sensorily.

Shouldering my pack, I said I might go have a look under the bridge. Now the man smiled openly, and wished me luck. Still I could feel his eyes still on my back as I descended into the little canyon, and even imagined he was somehow watching me as I worked my way slowly down from the bridge until it was just a white speck.