Randyflycaster
New member
We drove along the Beaverkill, and past Painter's Bend. Billy drove off the road and parked. We walked to the bank of the river. Cook's Falls pool was long, straight and rocky. About fifty yards downstream was a covered bridge. But the bridge wasn't long enough to reach both banks of the river. The far end of the bridge, the north end, was connected to a short, metal bridge that reached the bank. At first the covered bridge looked like a freight car, but the metal bridge was too small to be a locomotive; so then the bridges looked like an ant pulling a big piece of food.
"I'll race you across," Billy said.
"That water is fast."
"Just make sure you're anchored on the bottom and that before you step forward you move your wadin' stick; then you'll be able to stand up to the water. I'll give you a head start."
"Billy, my ankle."
"You said it wasn't sore. I'm tryin' to show you one of my secret holes."
If I again break my ankle, I thought, the army surely won't take me. "I've never done this before. I want a head start."
"I'm gonna count to sixty before I start. One, two ..."
I waded into the river. The cold water kept kicking my ankles and shins. At least the water seemed to wear boxing gloves on its feet.
I thought, I can't do this. What if I fall and hit my head?
"Feel all your steps!" Billy yelled. "One step at a time and you'll soon be there!"
Maybe I can do it.
Following Billy's advice, I carefully waded to the middle of the pool. I looked over my shoulder. Billy was about twenty feet behind me.
"Don't worry about me, Ian. The trick is to compete against yourself."
"You mean to stay within myself."
"Whatever. Time-out for a minute. Look downstream, Ian."
The covered bridge and the river seemed to form a picture frame. But the river obviously wanted to be more than a border. It flowed through the picture, beckoning my eyes to follow it. My eyes weren't the only followers.
Downstream, on the sloping banks, small homes looked like the faces of people sitting in a stadium. The windows were the people's wide-open eyes. The bare branches surrounding the homes were the people's thinning hair; so when the leaves bloomed, these people, unlike Clay, would have full heads of hair and wouldn't need comb-overs. Because the faces were different colors - yellow, red, white - the people obviously came from different parts of the earth. Some were probably poor immigrants. A few, I guessed, didn't believe in God. But wherever they came from, whatever they believed in, they formed a village that watched and, I assumed, rooted for the home team: the Beaverkill.
"Ain't that a beautiful sight?" Billy said.
"Absolutely."
"When I finally start makin' money from my rods I'm gonna buy a real good camera and come here early in the mornin' when the sun casts a warm, pink glow, and take pictures. One day, Ian, maybe I'll take a lot of pictures of the Beaverkill, and put together one of those beautiful picture books. I know people will say that I'm a crazy dreamer, but I don't care."
I never knew, I thought, that a mechanic who never went to college could have such a love and an appreciation for beauty.
I said, "And maybe I'll write essays to go with the pictures."
"I didn't know you write."
"I don't like to talk about it, but yes, I do."
"Then we'll do the book together. Okay, time in."
We resumed our race. As I neared the bank, Billy caught up to me. Sure he'd win, I stepped into slower water and onto smaller rocks. Wading was easier. Billy and I reached the bank at the same time. I thought, if he's trying to teach me a lesson I don't like it, even though I feel really good that I waded across.
I asked, "So what's so important about this spot?"
He smiled. "You'll see." He opened his fly box and took out a dry fly. "Notice how this wing is higher than the other, and how the hackle on this side isn't as thick."
"Why's that?"
"So when the fly floats it tips over a bit. The theory is that if a trout has a few flies to choose from, he'll pick the one that looks imperfect or injured."
"Did you tie that fly yourself?"
"The Hermit tied it for me."
"I thought the Hermit stays to himself."
"He does, but a few years ago I fixed one of his rods. Since I felt sorry for him, I didn't charge him. Now he pays me back by givin' me flies."
"What's he like?"
"He don't talk much, but I think he's real smart even though he never went to college. He reads a lot. He even offered to loan me books, but I ain't up to readin' history or science. The Hermit told me science, like fly-rods, is on the verge of a revolution."
"What kind of revolution?"
"One started by a guy named Einstein. Did they teach you about him in college?"
"I didn't take any physics courses." "Well, according to Einstein, time ain't really time. Two people, seein' the same event, like a flash of light, can think the flash happened at different times. Don't ask me to explain any more because that's all I know, and even that I don't understand."
"I didn't think time can be changed. That sounds like something out of Don Quixote. I wonder if Einstein read it."
"The Hermit thinks Einstein is right."
"And what does the Hermit think about the war?"
"That America should help England and France, and I do too!"
I didn't want to start an argument. "Can I try one of the Hermit's flies?"
"Sure. Let's wade downstream. Even though there ain't any signs of it, runnin' up and down the bottom over there is a drop-off where trout love to stay."
"How did you find it?"
"Last summer I waded across and the next thing I knew I was swimmin'. A few winters ago, an ice jam must've carved out the drop-off."
"I didn't know ice could carve out fishing holes."
"That's why this river changes year to year."
"Like time."
Billy laughed.
We waded downstream and fished. Billy landed and released a big rainbow. "Let's see you beat that."
In the middle of the river, about sixty feet away, was a boulder.
I said, "You asked for it." I pulled line off my reel, made a long cast and landed the fly right in front of the boulder. A rainbow jumped up, gulped the fly, and bolted downstream. My reel spun like a top. Finally, it slowed. I quickly waded downstream, reeling in line. The rainbow broke toward the far bank. Turning him again and again, I slowly brought him closer. I yelled, "Mine's bigger."
"It ain't fair that you can cast that far."
"You're the one who made the challenge."
The rainbow broke toward me. I reeled as fast as I could. The rainbow passed me. Suddenly the rod went dead. The line dangled. I reeled it in and saw the rainbow had snapped my tippet. I cursed.
Billy laughed, momentarily.
I asked, "What happened?"
"Two things. First, when you kept turning the fish, the hook made a bigger and bigger hole in his mouth, so he probably would have shaken free anyway. But the reason he broke off was because when he was moving away from you his head was down and you continued to reel. What I try to do during a fight is to let the fish run, then when I feel him let up a bit, I try to lift his head out of the water, then I reel him in."
"I never read that in a book."
"I learned it from losing a lot of fights with fish."
We waded downstream, almost up to the covered bridge, and cast to several eddies. Billy hooked a big brown.
The sun hung low in the sky. The wind suddenly blew harder and harder, ripping down the river like a speeding train, making me feel I was stark naked. I wanted to go back to the lodge, but didn't want Billy to think I was giving in to the cold.
"Ian, aren't you glad you waded across?"
"Absolutely!"
"Tomorrow, at about three, where will you be?"
I remembered Ray coming to the Forks over an hour late. I smiled. "You mean three o'clock according to my watch?"
"Don't get smart on me."
"You're the one who said time isn't really time. I'll be at Ferdon's."
"I'll take you to another great spot."
The next day at exactly three o'clock, Billy drove the old Ford down to the bank of Ferdon's Eddy. Glad that, unlike Izzy and Ray, Billy kept his word, I got into the Ford. Billy drove up the road that led to the Covered Bridge Pool, but when we reached the turnoff to the pool, Billy drove straight ahead.
"Where are we going?"
"You'll see." A few minutes later, Billy turned onto the dirt road Mr. La Branche's fishing club was on.
Was Billy planning to poach the water of the club? If so, what would I do? I didn't want to offend Mr. La Branche or anyone else.
Billy drove past Mr. La Branche's club. I was relieved.
A few minutes later, he parked in a small clearing. Signs prohibiting fishing and trespassing were posted on the trees. Billy got out of the Ford, walked to the river and looked upstream. He jogged back. "Let's go."
"Billy, are you poaching?"
"It's early in the season. The club members probably ain't even here."
"Poaching is against the law."
"Whose law? The club don't own the water."
"It owns the land under the water."
"So what are you gonna do, just sit here?"
Angry at being manipulated, I insisted, "You should've told me."
Billy looked into my eyes. "You're right. I should have. Give me about an hour and I'll be back."
Billy marched down the road.
What the heck! I thought. Billy is probably right about the members not being here.
I got out of the Ford and ran up to Billy. He smiled and pulled the front of my cap over my eyes. I pulled it back up and thought, Yes, I want him as a friend.
We walked to the bank. Billy said, "Right there, Ian, the tail. See the way those two long seams form a big V."
"How'd you find this hole?"
"A guy wearin' fancy clothes came to my shop, asked me to fix his rod, and then told me all about how he broke it
when he wrestled a four-pound brown. I asked where he hooked the monster and he told me. I think we should start upstream of the V and work our way down." "Okay."
The bottom of the river was gravel and small rocks. Way upstream, the pool narrowed into a neck. I couldn't see if the neck had a head, because my view was blocked by the pool's wide shoulders: a man-made, plank waterfall. Below the waterfall, the pool's smooth, reflecting surface looked as if it were painted silver. Near the pool's tail, the water sped up and formed small riffles.
Billy cast and landed his fly on one of the seams of the big V. His fly drifted downstream about two feet. A big brown inhaled it.
"I told, you Ian!"
"I'll go downstream and land it."
"No. That would be cheatin.'"
After a long fight, Billy landed and released the brown. Ten minutes later, I landed a smaller brown.
"You fellas better get going!" someone yelled. Standing on the bank was a big man with dark curly hair and bushy eyebrows. He wore hip boots.
I looked at Billy. "Who's that?"
"The river keeper."
"You're trespassing!" the river keeper yelled.
"Says who?" Billy stated.
"The signs."
"Any of your club members up here?"
"That don't matter."
"We don't mean no harm. No one will know we're here. Please?"
"I'll know. Don't make me come in and teach you a lesson."
"Why don't you!?" Billy yelled.
The river keeper staggered back, as if he had been punched. His eyes wandered downstream. He looked lost.
"There's, there's two of you."
"Don't worry about my friend. He ain't gonna do anything. I promise. Just worry about me."
I said, "Billy, let's go."
"He threatened us!"
"I don't want trouble," the river keeper said.
"So why did you start some?"
The river keeper turned abruptly and walked away.
"You can't teach me anythin'!" Billy yelled. He looked at me. "See Ian, I told you he wasn't gonna do anythin'."
"He could come back with a gun."
"He could, but he won't."
"Let's leave."
"Then wait for me in the car." Billy retrieved his line and cast.
Even though I believed in the law, I didn't want Billy to think I was a coward. I fished for twenty minutes, then told Billy I'd wait for him in the Ford.
"Ian, I'll come with you."
We got into the car.
Billy said, "We didn't do anythin' wrong."
"Says who?"
Billy drove toward Roscoe. Looking out the side window, I didn't say anything. My heart beat hard and fast, as if the confrontation was still going on. Glad it wasn't, I felt sorry for the river keeper, even though he had threatened us. I looked at Billy. He glanced at me and smiled. I wished I had just half of his courage.
"So, you're not gonna say anythin'?" Billy asked.
We broke the law, I thought. But we didn't harm anyone. We stood up to the world of private fishing clubs and got away with it.
Suddenly I felt I hit a grand-slam home run. I laughed.
"Ian, I'm sorry."
Pretending to be angry, I said, "Yeah, you should be."
"Admit it: you loved it."
I tried to glare at Billy, but uncontrollably I laughed.
I wondered, Were Billy's dares his way of showing me I have the courage to compete in the fly-casting tournament? If so, he talked in code again. I don't like it. Can I really trust him?
I asked, "Do you know what my father does for a living?"
"What?"
"He's a lawyer."
"If we get locked up we'll know who to call."
We laughed.
I asked, "What does your father do?"
"My father is out west workin' for the railroads. He -Ian, I might as well tell you the truth. My parents ain't married anymore."
I didn't know anyone whose parents were divorced. Billy's mother seemed so nice. Was his father evil?
"Are you going to be a lawyer too?" Billy asked.
"I want to be a writer."
"And be famous?"
"I suppose so."
"Don't be ashamed of wanting to be famous. One day, I'm gonna build the finest fly rods ever made. A hundred years from now, people will still want them. Maybe we'll both be famous forever."
"And ever."
This excerpt is from my novel, The Fly Caster Who Tried to Make Peace with the World, available on Amazon.
"I'll race you across," Billy said.
"That water is fast."
"Just make sure you're anchored on the bottom and that before you step forward you move your wadin' stick; then you'll be able to stand up to the water. I'll give you a head start."
"Billy, my ankle."
"You said it wasn't sore. I'm tryin' to show you one of my secret holes."
If I again break my ankle, I thought, the army surely won't take me. "I've never done this before. I want a head start."
"I'm gonna count to sixty before I start. One, two ..."
I waded into the river. The cold water kept kicking my ankles and shins. At least the water seemed to wear boxing gloves on its feet.
I thought, I can't do this. What if I fall and hit my head?
"Feel all your steps!" Billy yelled. "One step at a time and you'll soon be there!"
Maybe I can do it.
Following Billy's advice, I carefully waded to the middle of the pool. I looked over my shoulder. Billy was about twenty feet behind me.
"Don't worry about me, Ian. The trick is to compete against yourself."
"You mean to stay within myself."
"Whatever. Time-out for a minute. Look downstream, Ian."
The covered bridge and the river seemed to form a picture frame. But the river obviously wanted to be more than a border. It flowed through the picture, beckoning my eyes to follow it. My eyes weren't the only followers.
Downstream, on the sloping banks, small homes looked like the faces of people sitting in a stadium. The windows were the people's wide-open eyes. The bare branches surrounding the homes were the people's thinning hair; so when the leaves bloomed, these people, unlike Clay, would have full heads of hair and wouldn't need comb-overs. Because the faces were different colors - yellow, red, white - the people obviously came from different parts of the earth. Some were probably poor immigrants. A few, I guessed, didn't believe in God. But wherever they came from, whatever they believed in, they formed a village that watched and, I assumed, rooted for the home team: the Beaverkill.
"Ain't that a beautiful sight?" Billy said.
"Absolutely."
"When I finally start makin' money from my rods I'm gonna buy a real good camera and come here early in the mornin' when the sun casts a warm, pink glow, and take pictures. One day, Ian, maybe I'll take a lot of pictures of the Beaverkill, and put together one of those beautiful picture books. I know people will say that I'm a crazy dreamer, but I don't care."
I never knew, I thought, that a mechanic who never went to college could have such a love and an appreciation for beauty.
I said, "And maybe I'll write essays to go with the pictures."
"I didn't know you write."
"I don't like to talk about it, but yes, I do."
"Then we'll do the book together. Okay, time in."
We resumed our race. As I neared the bank, Billy caught up to me. Sure he'd win, I stepped into slower water and onto smaller rocks. Wading was easier. Billy and I reached the bank at the same time. I thought, if he's trying to teach me a lesson I don't like it, even though I feel really good that I waded across.
I asked, "So what's so important about this spot?"
He smiled. "You'll see." He opened his fly box and took out a dry fly. "Notice how this wing is higher than the other, and how the hackle on this side isn't as thick."
"Why's that?"
"So when the fly floats it tips over a bit. The theory is that if a trout has a few flies to choose from, he'll pick the one that looks imperfect or injured."
"Did you tie that fly yourself?"
"The Hermit tied it for me."
"I thought the Hermit stays to himself."
"He does, but a few years ago I fixed one of his rods. Since I felt sorry for him, I didn't charge him. Now he pays me back by givin' me flies."
"What's he like?"
"He don't talk much, but I think he's real smart even though he never went to college. He reads a lot. He even offered to loan me books, but I ain't up to readin' history or science. The Hermit told me science, like fly-rods, is on the verge of a revolution."
"What kind of revolution?"
"One started by a guy named Einstein. Did they teach you about him in college?"
"I didn't take any physics courses." "Well, according to Einstein, time ain't really time. Two people, seein' the same event, like a flash of light, can think the flash happened at different times. Don't ask me to explain any more because that's all I know, and even that I don't understand."
"I didn't think time can be changed. That sounds like something out of Don Quixote. I wonder if Einstein read it."
"The Hermit thinks Einstein is right."
"And what does the Hermit think about the war?"
"That America should help England and France, and I do too!"
I didn't want to start an argument. "Can I try one of the Hermit's flies?"
"Sure. Let's wade downstream. Even though there ain't any signs of it, runnin' up and down the bottom over there is a drop-off where trout love to stay."
"How did you find it?"
"Last summer I waded across and the next thing I knew I was swimmin'. A few winters ago, an ice jam must've carved out the drop-off."
"I didn't know ice could carve out fishing holes."
"That's why this river changes year to year."
"Like time."
Billy laughed.
We waded downstream and fished. Billy landed and released a big rainbow. "Let's see you beat that."
In the middle of the river, about sixty feet away, was a boulder.
I said, "You asked for it." I pulled line off my reel, made a long cast and landed the fly right in front of the boulder. A rainbow jumped up, gulped the fly, and bolted downstream. My reel spun like a top. Finally, it slowed. I quickly waded downstream, reeling in line. The rainbow broke toward the far bank. Turning him again and again, I slowly brought him closer. I yelled, "Mine's bigger."
"It ain't fair that you can cast that far."
"You're the one who made the challenge."
The rainbow broke toward me. I reeled as fast as I could. The rainbow passed me. Suddenly the rod went dead. The line dangled. I reeled it in and saw the rainbow had snapped my tippet. I cursed.
Billy laughed, momentarily.
I asked, "What happened?"
"Two things. First, when you kept turning the fish, the hook made a bigger and bigger hole in his mouth, so he probably would have shaken free anyway. But the reason he broke off was because when he was moving away from you his head was down and you continued to reel. What I try to do during a fight is to let the fish run, then when I feel him let up a bit, I try to lift his head out of the water, then I reel him in."
"I never read that in a book."
"I learned it from losing a lot of fights with fish."
We waded downstream, almost up to the covered bridge, and cast to several eddies. Billy hooked a big brown.
The sun hung low in the sky. The wind suddenly blew harder and harder, ripping down the river like a speeding train, making me feel I was stark naked. I wanted to go back to the lodge, but didn't want Billy to think I was giving in to the cold.
"Ian, aren't you glad you waded across?"
"Absolutely!"
"Tomorrow, at about three, where will you be?"
I remembered Ray coming to the Forks over an hour late. I smiled. "You mean three o'clock according to my watch?"
"Don't get smart on me."
"You're the one who said time isn't really time. I'll be at Ferdon's."
"I'll take you to another great spot."
The next day at exactly three o'clock, Billy drove the old Ford down to the bank of Ferdon's Eddy. Glad that, unlike Izzy and Ray, Billy kept his word, I got into the Ford. Billy drove up the road that led to the Covered Bridge Pool, but when we reached the turnoff to the pool, Billy drove straight ahead.
"Where are we going?"
"You'll see." A few minutes later, Billy turned onto the dirt road Mr. La Branche's fishing club was on.
Was Billy planning to poach the water of the club? If so, what would I do? I didn't want to offend Mr. La Branche or anyone else.
Billy drove past Mr. La Branche's club. I was relieved.
A few minutes later, he parked in a small clearing. Signs prohibiting fishing and trespassing were posted on the trees. Billy got out of the Ford, walked to the river and looked upstream. He jogged back. "Let's go."
"Billy, are you poaching?"
"It's early in the season. The club members probably ain't even here."
"Poaching is against the law."
"Whose law? The club don't own the water."
"It owns the land under the water."
"So what are you gonna do, just sit here?"
Angry at being manipulated, I insisted, "You should've told me."
Billy looked into my eyes. "You're right. I should have. Give me about an hour and I'll be back."
Billy marched down the road.
What the heck! I thought. Billy is probably right about the members not being here.
I got out of the Ford and ran up to Billy. He smiled and pulled the front of my cap over my eyes. I pulled it back up and thought, Yes, I want him as a friend.
We walked to the bank. Billy said, "Right there, Ian, the tail. See the way those two long seams form a big V."
"How'd you find this hole?"
"A guy wearin' fancy clothes came to my shop, asked me to fix his rod, and then told me all about how he broke it
when he wrestled a four-pound brown. I asked where he hooked the monster and he told me. I think we should start upstream of the V and work our way down." "Okay."
The bottom of the river was gravel and small rocks. Way upstream, the pool narrowed into a neck. I couldn't see if the neck had a head, because my view was blocked by the pool's wide shoulders: a man-made, plank waterfall. Below the waterfall, the pool's smooth, reflecting surface looked as if it were painted silver. Near the pool's tail, the water sped up and formed small riffles.
Billy cast and landed his fly on one of the seams of the big V. His fly drifted downstream about two feet. A big brown inhaled it.
"I told, you Ian!"
"I'll go downstream and land it."
"No. That would be cheatin.'"
After a long fight, Billy landed and released the brown. Ten minutes later, I landed a smaller brown.
"You fellas better get going!" someone yelled. Standing on the bank was a big man with dark curly hair and bushy eyebrows. He wore hip boots.
I looked at Billy. "Who's that?"
"The river keeper."
"You're trespassing!" the river keeper yelled.
"Says who?" Billy stated.
"The signs."
"Any of your club members up here?"
"That don't matter."
"We don't mean no harm. No one will know we're here. Please?"
"I'll know. Don't make me come in and teach you a lesson."
"Why don't you!?" Billy yelled.
The river keeper staggered back, as if he had been punched. His eyes wandered downstream. He looked lost.
"There's, there's two of you."
"Don't worry about my friend. He ain't gonna do anything. I promise. Just worry about me."
I said, "Billy, let's go."
"He threatened us!"
"I don't want trouble," the river keeper said.
"So why did you start some?"
The river keeper turned abruptly and walked away.
"You can't teach me anythin'!" Billy yelled. He looked at me. "See Ian, I told you he wasn't gonna do anythin'."
"He could come back with a gun."
"He could, but he won't."
"Let's leave."
"Then wait for me in the car." Billy retrieved his line and cast.
Even though I believed in the law, I didn't want Billy to think I was a coward. I fished for twenty minutes, then told Billy I'd wait for him in the Ford.
"Ian, I'll come with you."
We got into the car.
Billy said, "We didn't do anythin' wrong."
"Says who?"
Billy drove toward Roscoe. Looking out the side window, I didn't say anything. My heart beat hard and fast, as if the confrontation was still going on. Glad it wasn't, I felt sorry for the river keeper, even though he had threatened us. I looked at Billy. He glanced at me and smiled. I wished I had just half of his courage.
"So, you're not gonna say anythin'?" Billy asked.
We broke the law, I thought. But we didn't harm anyone. We stood up to the world of private fishing clubs and got away with it.
Suddenly I felt I hit a grand-slam home run. I laughed.
"Ian, I'm sorry."
Pretending to be angry, I said, "Yeah, you should be."
"Admit it: you loved it."
I tried to glare at Billy, but uncontrollably I laughed.
I wondered, Were Billy's dares his way of showing me I have the courage to compete in the fly-casting tournament? If so, he talked in code again. I don't like it. Can I really trust him?
I asked, "Do you know what my father does for a living?"
"What?"
"He's a lawyer."
"If we get locked up we'll know who to call."
We laughed.
I asked, "What does your father do?"
"My father is out west workin' for the railroads. He -Ian, I might as well tell you the truth. My parents ain't married anymore."
I didn't know anyone whose parents were divorced. Billy's mother seemed so nice. Was his father evil?
"Are you going to be a lawyer too?" Billy asked.
"I want to be a writer."
"And be famous?"
"I suppose so."
"Don't be ashamed of wanting to be famous. One day, I'm gonna build the finest fly rods ever made. A hundred years from now, people will still want them. Maybe we'll both be famous forever."
"And ever."
This excerpt is from my novel, The Fly Caster Who Tried to Make Peace with the World, available on Amazon.
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