The Fish Within

Seven

It was still early still dark.  Kevin paced back and forth in front of the door.  He sighed, walking the short hallway to the back of his shop to the kitchen.  He slurped down a bit of lukewarm coffee.  He set it down and heard the door open and shut in a flurry.

He moved quick back down the hallway.  He had started to say her name, but only got out the first syllable "Rach--" when he stopped himself. 

His buddy Carl stood in the door way.  He held out a magazine.  "Hey look what they got over there down at--."

Kevin waved him off.  "What is that?  Man, it's early."

"It's that chick you're taking fishing.  You never take chicks fishing.  Not since--.  Now, c'mon why would she who looks like this want to go out and catch a fish with the likes of you?"

"C'mon Dylan, man, it's too early for this.  I know who she is.  I mean I've heard the talk.  I saw that.  But you know I don't even own a TV.  Don't watch it.  I don't do the internet."

"Yeah, that's why this place looks like this and Elk River's outfit is so much better and gets more big spenders.  Course maybe you'll move up in the world.  Get you a picture with her for you a new brochure.  That'll bring 'em in."

"No.  I don't care about stuff like that."

Dylan tossed the magazine at him.   Kevin caught it.  He took a long look at the cover.  He tossed it back.

"Thanks, but I'm not interested."

They sat in silence in the beat up truck, a blue maybe green color she couldn't tell it was so faded.  Kevin fiddled with the radio finally selecting an 80's music station.  He grinned as a dust cloud enveloped them as they bounced along the gravel road.

Rachel coughed and tried rolling up her window, but the arm wouldn't crank.

Kevin laughed.  "It's busted.  It came that way.  This ole truck belonged to my Dad and before him my Grandfather.  It's got a history."

She pulled a band from her purse and tied back her hair.  "Does it now?"

"Yep.  Kinda like fly fishing.  At its most basic form, it is the art of tricking the fish.  Salmon or Trout. "

"Using flies?"

He nodded.  "Someone's been reading."  He shrugged towards the gear bouncing around in the bed of the truck.  "I tie my own.  From feathers or bits of fur.  Got to make them look real.  Like naturally occurring critters.  Insects.  Eggs, and the like.  You want to make the fish believe that the fly is real and yummy and that they want to eat it."

"What's different from this and regular fishing?"

Kevin shook his head.  He swatted his jean clad knee.  She glanced at the holes in the knees and the warm fit tanned skin that showed through.

"You gotta make the flies dance on the water.  Like they are alive.  The rod is different, too.  Clear-like so it's not so obvious.  Throw the snare.  The fish comes straight at it.  It thinks what a pretty sight.  It opens its mouth, to take it within and then it's caught by the hook.  Captive."

Rachel folded up her arms.  "Sounds like a trap."

He mashed the gas pedal.  The truck roared straight up.  He pulled hard to the right and veered off the so-called road into a bright green meadow.  He put it in park and flipped the key.

"It's right over there."  He smiled and pulled down his faded blue maybe green cap over his eyes.

She thought, his ball cap is as dirty as this truck.  She said, "Okay, let's do this."

He was out of the truck and around to the other side before she opened the door.  He held out a hand.  She took it and jumped out of the cab landing right in his arms.  He clutched her tight and laughed again. 

"There's no step there.  I should've warned you."

His warm embrace was gone almost as quick as it came.  She nodded and gulped.  Her heart raced faster than normal.  She told herself it was the high mountain altitude, the heat, the sun, the bouncy car ride, the early morning wake-up call.  Except she was used to working on location and to early calls for scenes.

He was at the back of the truck, standing and watching her.  "You coming?  I told those movie people of yours we'd be back before sunset."

She wrinkled her forehead.  "They called you?"

"Yeah.  Said to be real careful and all.  Guess they can't make their picture without you."

She opened her mouth to answer, but as fast as he spoke he had the gear all hauled up on his shoulders and he was hiking towards a small stream across the field. 

She grabbed her purse, and started walking.  As soon as she caught up he started talking fish again.

"There are three kinds of trout.  Brown, Rainbow and Brook.  Different habits.  Different tastes.  To catch them, you have to know where they are.  The riffles are where to look."

"Riffles?"

He grabbed her arm and steered her on the path beside him.  Soon they were walking in tandem.  She with her purse, he with all the gear on his shoulders and back.  

"Yeah, riffles.  Shallow spots of water.  It's where the water moves fast.  Minnows are there.  Other feeder fish, too.  Midges, mayflies, caddis, stoneflies, craneflies, scuds, sowbugs, annelids, damsel and dragonflies.  So the big fish hand there to get the fish within those waters.  And then we sneak near there , too.  The fish are on high alert."

She shook her head.  "You're kidding, right?  The fish know you're there?"

He smirked.  "Yeah, I know it sound nuts.  But the fish's vision window is large there.  They can see more in shallow water than in deep water.  Kind of like that saying you can be a bigger fish in a small pond than a little one."

"Maybe.  I grew up in a big city.  Atlanta."

"Yeah, I thought you weren't from around here."  He grabbed her shoulders again with firm hands.  He pushed her behind him.  "The path gets narrower here.  We're almost there."

They walked a few feet more saying nothing.  It was quiet.  High grass surrounded them.  Cliffs all around.  Dirt, rocks, and shrub like trees.

Kevin spoke again motioning with his hands for her to come forward.  "They sometimes feed on the surface, too.  Or in a run where it's deeper water and not as fast moving.  Or sometimes you can catch them in a pool, deeper and stiller water.  But in the pools, they aren't there to feed so it's harder to get them there.  You can look around rocks.  And in undercuts.  The most important thing is to know which fly to pick, matching the hatch."

"Match the hatch?"

He dropped the gear under a low tree.  "Yep.  What they naturally eat, you wanna match it with your fly as close as possible."

She stooped under the tree.  Sat on her haunches. 

He pointed to a bag.  "Start unpacking."

She smiled.  Dropped her purse and grabbed a bag.