Howard took off his straw hat and tipped it to an ear. He said he heard something. We waded to where a plunge, or short waterfall, poured over a beaver dam.
“What do you think?” he asked.
“There’s only room for one of us.”
Howard’s a sportsman. “You try it.”
I tied on a big tungsten bead, the kind with a green and gold, iridescent body. I had to be careful. The fly would drop through the water fast. There would surely be a tangle of logs at the bottom of that plunge. I’d rather not lose my tungsten fly. But I also wanted whatever was hunkered down in that hole. Waving the rod back and forth, keeping the line in the air, I dropped the bead right into the falls. I waited a second. Then two. Then hauled back.
Snag. I shook the rod tip. Gently.
“You’ve got a fish!” Howard yelled. Sure enough, the rod dipped and jerked…
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