The Fisher Read online

jerked with the bite of a fish. He knew at once that it was a big fish from the pull on the line. He reeled the fish in and pulled a 12 inch cutthroat trout out of the water. He removed the hook and admired the beautiful fish. It had the characteristic red under the mouth and black spots toward the rear of its body. It filled both of his hands as he held it. He walked over to the truck and placed the fish in the cooler with ice. Most of the ice had melted but some ice still remained and the water inside was cold.

  He walked back to the stream and waded in. He would try for one more fish before the day was done. The fisherman made three casts. The sun was getting low on the Western horizon and the mountain air cooled as it does at high altitudes when the sun begins its decent. I guess I should be heading home, he thought to himself. He reeled in his line. He walked to his truck, removed his waders, and placed his rod in the truck bed.

  With the pleasure attained from a successful day fishing, he inserted his key into the ignition and brought the engine to a start. The engine sounded rough as metal moved upon unlubricated metal. He looked at the dash to see the low oil light illuminated. He turned the truck off. Opening the hood, he checked the dipstick to find no oil on it. He looked under the car and saw where oil had leaked out of the vehicle.

  He looked to the setting sun.

  “Probably only an hour of daylight left.” He thought. “It would take at least four hours to walk to town. I guess I spend the night here and walk tomorrow.”

  With his mind made up, he began working quickly to take advantage of the remaining daylight. He walked through the forest collecting wood off of the ground to burn in a fire. He returned to his truck with an armful of wood. The fisherman selected a spot not far from his truck and in the shelter of the trees to set up his fire. He collected rocks to construct a circular fire pit.

  With the fire pit completed, he placed some small twigs in the pit with a collection of dry pine-needles to use as tinder. As a man in the mountains should, he always carried a lighter in his truck. He ignited the pine-needles and shortly the small twigs caught fire as well. With the twigs burning, he placed a small piece of wood into the fire. Soon the man had a full fire as the sun descended below the Western horizon, and now only a faint orange glow could be seen to the West as the first stars began to appear. The moon rose and provided generous and appreciated illumination.

  He removed his fish from the cooler. Laying the fish on the lid of the cooler, he took his pocket knife out and cut the fish open along its belly from its head to its tail. He took the guts and organs out of the fish and threw them in the fire which burned hot now. He next cut the fish's head off and threw it in the fire as well. The man spread the fish open as a fillet and placed it upon a thin two pronged stick he had collected earlier. He had soaked the stick in water so it wouldn’t burn. With the stick, he suspended the fish above the fire just so the top of the orange flames danced along the bottom of the piece of meat. After he heard the meat begin to sizzle, he brought the stick from the fire, rotated the fish, and returned it to the flames.

  With the fish adequately cooked, he removed it from the fire and allowed it to cool for a minute. He blew on the fish and then picked it up with his hands. It was hot and hurt his hands, but he was hungry. He pulled the pieces of meat from the skin and ate them with his hands. The meat was tender and flaked easily away from the skin. It only took him two minutes to consume all of the meat. He threw the skin into the fire and watched it shrivel up as it burned.

  “Well, I guess I should wash that fish down with some whiskey;” he thought to himself.

  He grabbed his ever-present flask of whiskey from his pant pocket. As he reached to unscrew the lid he heard the fire pop and then crackle. He paused for a moment and could hear the rushing of the stream 30 yards away in the meadow. He took his hand off of the lid of the flask and returned it to his pocket without taking a sip.

  “I don't need any whiskey now.” He said aloud to himself. “Not now.”

  As the time passed and the night grew later, he decided not to add any additional logs to the fire so it would begin to burn out. As the flames began to dwindle from the lack of new fuel, he began to get tired. With the flames almost extinguished, he walked to the stream with his cooler. He filled the cooler with the cold stream water and walked back to the campsite and poured it over the fire. The fire hissed as the water whetted the coals and steam arose.

  With the fire firmly extinguished, he opened the passenger door to his pickup truck and got in. He closed the door and curled up in the passenger seat. The man covered himself with his jacket. The flask of whiskey pushed against his hip as he settled into the truck. He thought about taking a pull of whiskey to help him sleep, but then he heard the sound of the stream. He closed his eyes and listened to the stream as he fell asleep; the hint of a smile upon his face.

  _______________

  The next morning he awoke with the rising of the sun. He had slept through the night. The fisherman opened the car door and was immersed in the cool morning air. The freshness of the mountains greeted him, and he took a deep breath. The man was tempted to go out on the water for a few casts; he knew this was a great time to fish and that they would be biting. With the long walk ahead of him, he knew he couldn't.

  He thought what he needed for the walk. Water was most essential, but he had drank all of the water he had brought in the bottle. He walked over to the stream and filled the bottle with the fast rushing cool water. He knew he could potentially get sick from drinking it but it was a cold, fast moving stream. Getting sick from water was better than no water at all.

  With is pocket knife in his right pocket and his wallet in his left he threw his jacket over his shoulder. He held the water bottle in his left hand. It should be a nice day for walking; he thought, as he examined the clear sky. He paused as he looked at the meadow, the creek, and then the snow capped mountains. He turned from where he stood by his truck and began to walk down the trail that had carried him here.

  A bird watched from a log next to the stream. The young man walked slowly down the trail and disappeared into the shadows of the tall evergreen trees, a flask of whiskey in the back right pocket of his pants.