I waded, deepening, into the dark water. Evening, and the push and
swirl of the river as it closed around my legs and held on. Young grilse
broke water. Parr darted one way, smolt another. Gravel turned under my
boots as I edged out. Watched by the furious eyes of the king salmon.
Their immense heads turned slowly, eyes burning with fury, as they hung
in the deep current. They were there. I felt them there, and my skin
prickled. But there was something else. I braced with the wind on my
neck. Felt the hair rise as something touched my boot. Grew afraid at
what I couldnt see. Then of everything that filled my eyes that other
shore heavy with branches, and dark lip of the mountain range behind.
And this river that had suddenly grown black and swift. I drew breath
and cast anyway, while praying nothing would strike.
Raymond Carver
The River
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Jimmy D. Moore - Scout Exec. BSA (Ret.)
Author - "MOON HOLLER MISFITS Fishing & Hunting Club", ©
http://home.earthlink.net/~rayado/rayadoflyfishingflypatternstips/index.html
Humorist, half-assed poet, and sometimes red-neck Texan.
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"Being able to read trout streams is just as valuable to a fly fisherman as the ability to read a defense is to an NFL Quarterback."
Jimmy D. Moore - © [2004]
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