02/01/15

The long goodbye

Mother Nature had been extremely upset over something, but thankfully she was tiring herself out. I wanted to be in a nice warm bed dreaming about Darth Vader taking over the galaxy not getting soaked on a creek bank at 5 in the morning, but what I wanted didn’t matter because “This is when the big ones bite!” Winds still slashed at the morning fog forcing it to find an escape route through the overhanging branches. The river had taken on the attributes of a runaway locomotive. Crystal clear spring water surged downstream slamming into boulders the size of my bicycle. Yet, there he stood right in the middle of it, motionless, as if the frigid water swirling around his knees had frozen him solid. His eyes peered at the horizon while the dawn tried to push through the dying thunderclouds. Earlier, I had watched the grey haired fisherman wipe sleep from his eyes and wince in momentary pain as his arthritic hands tugged at a pair of unwieldy hip boots. Now, after wading out a few feet he paused and turned back with a creased brow. I clearly remember thinking he had forgotten something back at the truck, but he was simply facing away from the wind to better tie a ridiculously small hook onto his line. Somewhere in the distance the sound of a horn sliced through the commotion signaling that it was time to fish. His eyes shifted to an ancient oak that had fallen years ago, probably from the same weather conditions we had just witnessed. It would have been astonishing to see its demise and hear what must have been an incredible explosion as it hit the water. I doubt any of that was in his mind as he focused on what could be swimming under or around it. With a flip of the wrist, accomplished through many hours of practice and cursing after lost lures, the bait sailed through the air and landed within inches of the half-exposed root system. The wind propelled small waves across the water, so from my vantage point I couldn’t see the strike, but the flex of the bamboo fly rod told me whatever was down there didn’t plan on giving up until the pole shattered or the line broke with a decisive “SNAP.” It was in this moment I saw the old man transform. He became younger right before my eyes, more agile, a hundred motor skills acting in unison as he picked his way through the algae covered rocks. The fish suddenly decided any place on earth was preferable to this particular stretch of water. The reel sang out a high pitched song, the line stretched and creaked in opposition. Just when it looked as if the light tackle could take no more, the monster would turn the other way alleviating some of the stress on both the rod and its master. Slowly the fisherman began to win the battle and with every crank of the reel my heart felt like it would leap from my chest. I could already see this behemoth mounted on a wall. My excitement was barely contained and it wasn’t even my fish! The wind seemed impressed too, as it took a break from tossing leaves into the air and silently watched the show. With one last splash the biggest fish I had ever seen glided gently into the mouth of the anglers net. As he removed the hook, I waited patiently for the celebration, but it never came. He held the monster in his hands almost lovingly, while its gaping jaw slowly opened and closed. When the moment had passed, the fisherman knelt down and let his quarry slide back into its watery world. All his earthly cares swam away alongside a slightly perplexed, but otherwise unhurt rainbow trout. He stayed in that position for several seconds, perhaps lost in old memories that had built up to this new one. I, on the other hand, did not have that same sense of inner reflection. Dumbfounded would be a much better description of my mental state. I stood open mouthed and with a look of total astonishment. That was every fisherman’s dream! Most of us will spend our entire lives in search of something half that size. A