I hadn’t fished in too long. It was pretty much whatever,
except that it totally sucked. It had been months. I was doing other things.
Mainly, I was working. What a waste. I was working graveyard shift, I was
working six days a week. I was thinking that it was time to find another job.
The car was broken. I was out of the office, out to lunch. I was under the
influence. I was using the little time I had off each week to drink, work on
the car, and watch Magnum p.i. Pretty good,
except that October was almost over, and I had barely thrown a cast. What
garbage. Tom Sellick is pretty
awesome though.
I sat there with my boots in the water watching my buddy
finish up. He threw a cast and I looked down. I watched some submerged grass
swaying with the current. I watched the bubbles. I had almost forgotten about
the water, and the gravel. The ferns, and the sand. The grit. It’s a goddam
good thing I didn’t. That would have sucked. I waited. I took a drag off my
smoke and turned my eyes towards the old man who had low holed us from the
opposite bank. What a dick. I glared at him from behind my aviators. I love
those things. They make a cold stare so much easier to pull off. Especially, if
you have a smoke hanging outta your lips, as well. Whatever. Dude was like older than God’s dad. Wasn’t
gonna teach the jagoff any manners now.
It wasn’t raining then, but it had been, and it would be. My buddy
reeled in and walked upstream. We were done here. Briefly, we conferred on the
situation across river. “YO, Pops!” I yelled. The old guy glanced at me while
trying to ignore me. I threw both my hands in the air. My buddy chuckled. I
turned, grabbed my rod, and we were gone.
We drove up to a spot that is a total pain in the ass. You
have to climb down a steep rock pile to get to the water. I mean, its way down
there. It sucks, but the fish don’t know that. I sent my buddy to the top, where
there are no fish, and I went to the bottom, were there usually are. That’s just
the kind of friend I am. The rocks and dirt slid out from beneath my boots. The
trees and bushes grabbed desperately at my rod. I cursed, and worked harder. I
made my way. I waded in, sweating profusely beneath my rain shell. Breathable
my ass! I took it off and threw it onto a rock for safe keeping. I stripped off
some line and started fishing. It started to rain all over my jacket on the
rock. Pretty awesome.
I worked the tailout slowly. I had a 14’ floating leader and
a weighted fly. It was what it was. I love this spot. The water is so glassy,
and large fish of all varieties seem to enjoy it. Just then, a spawned out king
salmon scared the be-jesus out of me. It had almost drifted right into my legs.
When it realized its error, it went darting off. See what I mean? I was nearing
the end. I watched the swing. Something pulled on the line, and my rod went
flying up. Way too soon. Nothing. I fought despair. The fish had not felt the
hook, there was still a chance. I backed up a few steps, and made the same
cast. The fly sank, began to swing, and rose again. Again, the fish came up. It
took the fly. I stood there watching my loop run out until the last second.
Then I hammered it. The fish was on. It ran and rolled. Upstream, I heard my
buddy chuckling. What a guy.
The fight was customary. The fish fled, and I let it. I
brought it back, and it let me. It bulldogged. I said, “The fuck you will”. I
held my breath, waiting for the fish to be gone before I was ready. I brought
it in, and it slipped me. I recovered, and I had it again. It was a nice buck
of around 24” and wearing fall colors. A pretty standard fish on this river. I
was stoked. Just then I heard my buddy crashing through the trees. It was
stupid. He had traveled over an insane amount of boulders and bullshit, in the
time it took me to land this fish. “Why are you here, man?” I asked him. He
didn’t have an answer, he was a little worn out. “OK”, he gasped, “let’s go”.
He was apparently talking to his camera which he had removed from his jacket. I
held the fish in the water. It finned slowly in my hands. A picture would have
been nice, but I had no intention of detaining this fish if it was ready before
the camera. “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon”. Pleading with electronics is always futile.
“Ok!” he said “hoist it”.
I lifted the fish to just above the water line. The
artificial sound of a shutter actuating was heard rabidly and repeatedly. I
lowered the fish back into the water. It flailed and was gone. I stood up, high
fived my buddy, and began getting my shit together. “Ok, man”, he said, as he
walked back into the trees “if you get another one you can go fuck yourself.
I’m not doing that again.” I watched him begin to negotiate his way back across
the rocks. It sounded fair to me.
