Fly Fisher's Storm

Writing can be a thankless job, so I want to take this time to thank the readers instead. Also, a special thanks anyone who already took, or will take the time to read this story. It was my very first attempt at a short story and probably my favorite. Happy Thanksgiving!!!!!

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There was an overwhelming silence on the river that morning. Not uncomfortably so, however eerily quiet none-the-less. Not a bird in the sky to be seen and the trees sitting perfectly still. A calmness that gave the fisherman a feeling of tranquility as he waded waist deep in the slow-moving waters of his favorite fishing hole. It was still very early, the sun barely over the tree line running across the bank that sat in front of him. Reaching into his worn vest, the fisherman pulls out a small tackle that holds a few of his very own hand made fishing flies. He opens it with a crisp crack of the plastic tackle that echoes over the river. 

"This ought 'a do the trick," says the fisherman to himself.

As the fisherman ties the fly to the end of his leader, he places the tackle back into his vest and sets himself in the soft, murky sand and prepares for what would be the first cast of many on the day. 

Pulling the backing line from his reel to the desired length, the fisherman let it drag on top of the water behind him. He takes a deep breath and begins his casting cycle as he raises his rod overhead and reaches back in smooth and practiced movements.

One. Two. Three. Four.

The fisherman counts silently in his mind in succession with his own casting motion. The fly launches to its intended spot on the river; landing into shallow, calm, rapids. Knowing, from his wealth of experience at fishing this very spot, that this would be a good place to start. Confidence and joy fill him at the sight of a successful first cast. The Fisherman taking another anticipated breath. Waiting. Watching. He begins reeling in the first cast. No luck. 

Immediately the fisherman sets and begins the sequence again for another cast. Allowing the rod and reel to be an extension of his own body, and feeling the current of the river around him, he sets into a place of Zen. Another cast, and another. His mind wanders. He thinks of home, work, family, and friends; Nature’s beauty creating the much-needed escape from all that has been left behind. All the while continuing the rhythmic cycle of reeling, casting, and repeating. 

The morning has turned into early afternoon, the sun no longer visible behind the tree line but beaming high in the sky centered between the narrowed passage of the two banks that the river has created. The fisherman is not deterred, yet baffled by the lack of action on the river. Normally by now he would have landed one, maybe two fish, or at the very least a few bites. Nothing. He considers moving to another spot on the river instead, thinks better of it. Still determined the fisherman continues on. 

This fisherman’s particular interest in fishing stems from the competition between angler and fish. As well as in the very nature of the fish itself, in this instance the fish in question happens to be trout. Brown, rainbow, brook, or cutthroat, they're all wondrous specimens. Masters of the water. Instinctively aggressive, strong, and stubborn. Camouflaged with natural beauty, hidden under the water's reflection, able to move seamlessly through lakes and rivers ready to strike at a moment’s notice. Truly, the perfect hunter. How does one catch such a remarkable creature? The ability to do so takes much preparation and practice. By using the trout's very own instincts against them. Replicating the hunter's prey in such a way that it is irresistible, forcing them to strike against their will, causing the hunter to become the hunted.  

Now focusing on the smooth, elegant flow of the water and stumped by the fact that there has yet to be a single fish caught, the fisherman decides to try a different style of bait. Normally dry flies work very well this time of year. After trying several different patterns and colors he comes to the conclusion that this doesn't seem to be the case today. He decides to go a different route.

Streamers. That might do it, the fisherman thinks to himself. 

As he ties on the new style of fly, one with brown colored body and a coppered-bronze accent, he notices a change in the wind, and with the wind, an altogether drastic change in weather. In the blink of an eye the early morning rays of sun are now blocked out by a large amount of cloud cover. Not the high elevation clouds that angler’s love to rely on for shade from the sun, but very angry, very dark clouds that can only mean one thing.... RAIN! What began as a calm and peaceful morning has turned into a quite torrid afternoon. Nevertheless, the fisherman continues, hoping to best the fish before the weather takes a turn for the worse.

With the wind picking up and wreaking havoc with his leader in mid cast, frustration sets in. The fisherman decides to move upriver a few paces to get a slightly better angle at the spot where he has been casting into all morning. This way he could allow his leader to gently float into the same area instead of having to rely on lucky breaks in the wind to get it there.

The sun now completely eclipsed by rain clouds, the trees swaying back and forth with an aggressive rustling of the leaves and the strong gusts of wind at his back the fisherman carries on casting and floating the newly tied streamer to its intended destination. Fighting against the elements yet able to keep his composure despite the harsh change in weather, not wanting to give up. Knowing full well that soon he will have to make the decision to pack it up and call it a day. 

Being the seasoned fisherman that he is. "Hasn't started raining yet. Better try for a few more I think," the fisherman says out loud.

Feeling pressed for time with the inevitable storm looming over him, the fisherman persists through the less-than-ideal weather that has confronted him, wanting to hold out as long as possible. Casting again, and again. Allowing the bait to work its magic waiting several minutes to pass between each cast. 

With one last valiant flick, the streamer at the end of his rod flies, lands, and floats coming to a stop at the targeted spot on the river. In that moment, simultaneously as the sky opens and the torrential down pour of rain hammers the fisherman and floods the river soaking every inch of himself and the wilderness around him, then it happens. The moment he's been unwaveringly waiting for all morning. In an instant his line goes taught and the fishing rod's tip bows to the river bottom. With a jolt of adrenaline and the shock of the unexpected bite he almost drops his pole in the river. Having been in this situation many times before, the fisherman recovers quickly preventing him from losing his pole and the monstrous fish fighting at the other end.

His hands shaking with excitement the fisherman presses against his reel to prevent the fish from swimming further down river. He begins reeling in. Pulling and reeling, not allowing the fish to gain another inch. Surprised at how much upper body strength it’s taking to reel this one in, he pauses, only for a second to take a quick breath, then pushes through. Reeling and pulling, pulling then reeling. Seconds turn to minutes. The minutes pass as the fisherman fights to keep it on his hook. The fish a true fighter, vigorously swimming back and forth, jumping with tremendous strength only to come crashing back down to earth in a colossal splash. 

All the while the heavy rain continuing around them. The two stuck in a battle of tug-of-war, with the fisherman gaining ground slowly but surely. The fish begins to tire and the fisherman getting that much closer to landing his first days catch, the fish would have to surrender; and it finally does. Ending the battle between the fisher and the fish.

Now standing soaking wet, head to toe and the rain beating at his back, the fisherman swoops the fish in his net; admiring the size and strength of the creature before him. A fine brown trout, easily seven, maybe eight pounds. Possibly his biggest catch to date. 

Pulling the hook from the fish's mouth, "You are a true beauty," he says to the fish and himself. 

Taking a last look at one of nicest fish he has ever had the pleasure of laying eyes on, the fisherman carefully sets it back into the water giving the fish a moment to recover and regain its strength. Then releasing his worthy opponent back to its habitat in the river. The fisherman watches the fish swim away, then he turns and heads back to shore. 

Tired and soaked from the day’s events, still baring a smile on his face from another successful day of fishing, one that he would not soon forget; and left with a feeling of contentment, he can now make his way for home equipped with a new adventure to share with friends and family alike.

"The Finest gift you can give to a fisherman is to put a good fish back, and who knows if the fish that you caught isn't someone else's gift to you?"

-Lee Wulff