"Old Flynn" Part 3

I'd been fishing all morning and had a good time of it. I'd started up above the usual place where Flynn showed me. Up above there, there were young cedars growing back a ways from the stream. They weren't too high, so I was able to fish from the bank. There were long green weed beds growing on the bottom of the stream and they waved back gently and forth with the slow moving current. If you were patient, you could see a trout here and there just lazily swimming as the current moved past him, being real picky about the little bits and bugs that floated by over their noses. From time to time, he'd see something he liked and he'd rise up smoothly and pluck it from the surface and then flick his tail and arch his body and dive back down near the bottom. It was tricky and pretty technical fishing but I managed to take three of them down through that long slow run.

Then the sun was up just over the tall trees downstream and it was warm so I waded in, mostly to feel the coolness of the water, and I fished my way down to where I'd set my backpack. I'd been careful to pack everything inside nice and snug and pull the flap over it and cinch up the straps good and tight so that pesky raven wouldn't be able to get at it and so I could be sure I'd have a lunch to eat in the afternoon.

I went over to where I'd sunk the beer and got it and then climbed out and went over to the big cedar I'd leaned the pack against and I sat down. It felt good to give my back a rest. I'd been standing and leaning over all morning to stay out of the trouts' sight up in that smooth run above.
Continued...
I took out the sandwich and my mouth was watering as I unwrapped the wax paper she'd folded over it. Juicy tomato and strong sharp onions that burnt my nose as I chewed and nice savory and salty country ham. I popped a can of beer and swallowed down half of it in one long drink. If only you could freeze these few hours in time and live them over and over to make sure you were catching it all.

I reached in the pack and got out the donuts. The chocolate glaze on them was still nice and hard and I ate one, then another and tried to chew it more slowly and appreciate the flavor while I looked out over the stream lazily.

A while later I heard a whooshing sound up through the trees and damned if that ornery raven hadn't come back to visit.

"I suppose you want a hand out, huh?"

He croaked and cawed at me a little. I took out another donut and bit into it and he tilted his head down and watched me real good. After a little of that he couldn't take it anymore and started gurgling at me, begging. I had two donuts left.

"One for me and one for you. That sound fair?"

He kept gurgling. I tossed one over on the ground under the tree he was perched up in and he dropped down after it using his wings to sorta parachute down, swinging back and forth smoothly. He took it up in his beak and flew off back into the woods through the cedars.

After the excitement of his visit wore off I was feeling sleepy and I closed my eyes a while and soon enough was asleep in a real peaceful and resigned kind of sleep.

---

I woke up suddenly and realized somebody'd been talking to me. Then, still groggy, I realized nobody was there and thought it was just dreaming, making up for what I'd missed through the whiskey last night. But then I heard the voice again, real strange, and I looked up in the trees. There was that raven again.

"My friend," he gurgled at me.

"I ain't your friend you son-of-a-bitch. You stole my donuts, remember?" I was a little surly from being awakened so suddenly.

I looked at my watch. It was 3:20.

"My friend," he said again and tilted his head in that way he did when I showed him the donuts before. I was breathing more normally and blinking a lot, waking up more.

Now some people will think I'm being all Poe here, writing about a raven talking, but the fact of the matter is, a raven can be taught to talk if you keep it as a sorta pet, feed it and all.

Either I was still dreaming, which I wasn't, or somebody had taught that bird to say things. Or something else more curious was going on, but I doubted that.

"My friend," he said again and gurgled a bit more and cawed for punctuation.

"OK, OK. I'm your friend. And you're always welcome to the donuts."

He cawed at me.

"I'll bring ya more next time, I promise."

He cawed again. And gurgled. He was something else, alright. We sat there just like that, him up in the tree looking down at me, sometimes rubbing his beak against the branch he was perched on, and me down on the ground, laying back against the cedar.

I looked out at the stream. The sun was behind the trees on the far bank and there were a few flies out dancing over the water. I was fully awake now and no longer surprised. I heard the whooshing again, and the bird dropped down to the ground and waddled around a while looking for something to eat. After he'd picked at this and that and gave up, he flew back up to his perch.

"Biddy hours," he said.

"What?"

He gurgled a while and then flew off.

"Goodbye," I called after him. "Ya son-of-a-bitch."

---

I stayed there a long time, sitting on the ground, leaning back against the old cedar tree, just watching the stream. I wondered when Flynn was gonna show up and if I should wait for him before I got back in and started to fish the evening rise.

There were two or three trout rising occasionally in different pockets up and down the stream from where I sat. It was pretty exciting to watch them hunting. They are fierce creatures, but not brutal. Just real efficient and doing their part in the stream.

It was gradual, but the few tens of flies that had been out dancing had grown steadily and now as I looked out over what light was coming low through the forest, the flies' wings were lit up and they sparkled as they flitted up and down out there. It was beautiful to watch and at the same time it made me anxious.

Then there it was. Down by where Flynn had me go in that last time to go after the big trout he'd seen. It was a big violent splash and I wanted to know what he took. I kinda had the feeling he wouldn't come up like that after those little mayflies I was watching. I got up and crept down the bank trying to stay low. He came up again with another big, loud splash and I watched that spot intently and blocked every other damn thing out. I noticed something floating over him, but nothing happened. Then I realized it was a leaf that had come all the way downstream. I looked upstream through the swarm of mayflies and damned if he didn't rise again just then. I couldn't see anything he'd take, but then from somewhere back in my noggin, I wondered if I was looking in the wrong place. Sometimes you got to look straight down where you are and see what's floating by right in front of you.

I moved up right next to the water and looked down into it. I was lucky that it was a little deeper than other places up along the bank and I might get a good chance to see what was coming down because the way I read the currents, it seemed it was pretty swift there and would carry bugs in from the whole width of the stream. I watched it there for a minute, then two, then three and I heard him out there coming up for something again, but by god I did not look up at him and just kept right on staring down into the water and seeing my own face and looking past it and then, finally, my patience paid off and I saw something interesting. It was a clear husk with long legs and a plump body. I had a pretty good idea what it was and where my friend out there was finding it.

I went back up to where my rod was, as quiet as I could be and even though I wanted to run straight out in the stream and cast to him, I forced myself to sit down and do it slow and as mindfully as possible. I pulled out the little red mint tin that I'd converted into a fly box and I took out an orange silk fly with a bushy but still delicate apron of partridge feather. I nipped off the fly I'd been using and pinned it to my cap and then I tied on that orange fly and wetted the line with my tongue before I cinched the knot tight. Then I clipped off the excess and I took two good long and deep breaths and I crept on over to the edge of the stream and stepped into the water as if I was stalking a deer in the forest. I was even careful to point my boots down and pierce the surface of the water so as not to hit it flat and let him know I was coming.

It took me a good two minutes to get out ten yards and I was hunched over the whole time, trying to keep low. He was still splashing and I knew I was pretty lucky.

I started letting out line and casting over and back well up from where he was rising. When I thought I had it about right, I lowered the rod and let the line fold out and just as it was about to straighten and fall I pulled back a touch and let it fall on the water snaking all over the place. I let the current take it down and stripped off a couple of yards real quick and shook the line out and then I just let nature take its course.

When I thought the fly was down about where it should be and he could see it, I tensed up a little. But nothing happened. And then, just as I allowed myself to relax a little, the line jerked out and half the curves in my snaked up line disappeared and went dead straight and there was a big swell in the smooth water down from the tip of the line.

He was pulling hard and I got lucky again because I didn't have my fingers pinched on the line above the reel and he took off line and the reel whirred and he was heading down to the bend. I started splashing my way down there, too. When he let up, he was almost down to the sunken tree and I wasn't gonna let him get down there.

I reeled him in when I could and had to let him head back down to the tree more times than I could keep track of. When he realized I wasn't gonna let him get there he seemed to get pissed. He jumped up out of the water and I tried to pull back on the rod and keep it tight but as gentle as I could. He didn't get off and nor did he the second time he tried that trick on me. Then he seemed to give it up.

He was real sullen, but I kept at him and after what seemed like a damn long time, I had him up closer and I could see him. He was big. I knew he was tired and I didn't want to kill him so I tried to get him in quick and just prayed the leader wouldn't break on me. He was a handsome trout alright. When I got him up near me and dipped my hand down in the water to hold him, he was just as placid as could be. That sucker knew I wasn't going to kill him. He knew we had an understanding and I think he knew it when he took the fly - otherwise he woulda broke me off, because both he and I knew he could. I unpinned him and held him there under the water. He was all smooth and dark and beautifully marked on his back. I held him and let the current go over him. I watched him working his gills and sorta looking up at me, I thought, and when he was ready he pushed out of my hand and went over midstream and dove down deeper.

The light was pretty low but I stayed there out in the stream and watched it all as long as I could. The mayflies still dancing around me. The weeds swaying down under the water around my legs.

---

"They bitin'?"

I looked up and into the woods. It was Flynn.

"I just caught a big one!" I said.

"I sort of sensed it, you might say."

I came out of the water and walked over to him.

"A damned big one," I said.

"You think he was the one I saw?"

"May-uh been."

"He put up a good fight?"

"And how!"

"I meant to get out here earlier and fish a little."

"What held ya up?"

"Oh, piddlin..."

"Here, have a beer." I pulled one off my six-pack that I'd blossomed in the cool of the stream like I'd learned from Flynn.

"I just came out to see how you was doin." He said.

"Go on. Have a beer."

"OK, I will."

We drank our beer and relaxed as night came on. Flynn was squatted down, resting on his heels.

"What'd you take him on?"

"Partridge and Orange."

"Well I'll be..."

"Come out tomorrow and I'll give you some to try."

"Maybe I will come."

We were quiet a while. The whippoorwills were calling up and down the forest across the stream.

"By the way," he said. "I didn't see any pretty girls in blue dresses on my way out here." He grinned.

"That's too bad."

"You sure you weren't seeing things?"

"Mighta been." Then, "I'm pretty sure she was real, though."

"I guess she probably was." He was looking off into the forest and seemed absorbed.

"If I see her again, I'm gonna talk to her."

"What are you gonna say?"

"I have no idea. But I hope it isn't stupid. Or something that'll scare her off."

"I hope so, too."

The stream was just as smooth and quiet with just a trickling sound here and there. Bats were hunting out over the trees.

"Well, I better git."

"OK. Make sure you come back tomorrow."

"I'll be here."

"You got a flashlight?"

"I don't need one."

"You sure?"

"I'll be fine," Flynn said.

"See ya tomorrow."

"Watch out for the girl tonight!" He made his eyes wide and then grinned and waved as he turned and walked off along the path. I listened for his footfalls on the plank pathway back in the forest but I couldn't hear them.

I set up camp quickly and then built up a little ring of stones and made an Indian campfire for company and sat up close to it. I ate a big hunk of cheddar cheese and drank a couple of beers for dinner. I hadn't really thought about it till then, but Flynn saying that about the girl just as he was leaving got me to wondering about her again. And to be honest, with the shadows cast by the low fire dancing around in the trees in the distance, it got me a little spooked. But the beer took all the worry away eventually.

I sat there by the fire late into the night, throwing kindling on it whenever it got low. Sometimes I let it die almost down to just coals and embers and I liked the way it looked, glowing orange red in the darkness and I wondered how it would look from across the stream.

And off and on, I was halfway thinking and fantasizing about the girl walking up to my campsite quietly and what she'd have to tell me and so on. I sat there hours with the little campfire popping and hissing when I put on pieces of cedar boughs. I broke out the whiskey and drank the moonshine straight from the mason jar. I didn't want to climb into the tent and fall asleep. I just wanted the evening and the fire and the feeling from the whiskey to keep on for a while longer. I could hear an owl off in the distance calling with that haunting sound carrying down over the stream. All Saint's Day, I remembered.

---

The next morning old Flynn showed up early with a six-pack of beer and sandwiches. We had a good day of fishing and he was pretty excited about the flies I gave him. He caught a nice trout on his first cast with one of them, as a matter of fact.

We waded all up and down and even went down past the submerged tree where it was all marshy at the banks and trees hung out over the water. It was a little eerie, but we ignored it and kept on fishing. And try as we might, we never did find that big trout. But Flynn told me he didn't mind - said something like "he can't show himself all the time, now can he?" I feel bad about it, but we kept a couple of the smaller trout to have for dinner.

In the evening we packed everything up and stopped down at the store to visit with the wife. She was real sweet to me again, and real sweet to old Flynn, too, although she seemed a little nervous with him there and he seemed to enjoy devilin' her. We picked up some more beer and some country ham to cook up the trout with.

Outside, Flynn seemed really happy.

"She's scared to death of me, ain't it precious?"

"Naw, she likes you fine. You shoulda heard how she was talking about you yesterday."

"That ain't what I'm sayin. Sure she likes me, but she's still antsy as hell when I'm around."

"Oh."

"I can't blame her, though."

"Why is that?"

"Hard to say... Oh hell, who knows? Just a gut feelin'."

"I don't follow," I said.

Flynn stopped and put his hand on my shoulder. "Krane, you're a fine fisherman, but you don't understand women, ya see."

"I suppose I can't argue with ya there."

"And you shouldn't".

"I won't."

"Don't."

We both laughed, but I was kinda wondering how well he understood women and why the hell he wasn't telling me about his wife, but like I said, these past years I'd gotten pretty indifferent about most everything. Except angling, that is. Well, "indifferent" isn't the right word. I cared. I was curious. It's just that I gave up pretty quickly when I felt it was necessary. Pretty often it was necessary.

Back at his house we made a fire outside and cooked the trout campfire style, wrapped in foil with butter and country ham inside. Just threw 'em on the coals and flipped 'em over after about five minutes and then ate them out of the foil and drank a couple of beers.

Then it was time for me to head back. I gave Flynn my number to call me in case anything good was going on at the stream.

"Don't worry, I'll get in touch if there's any big trout out there," he said, grinning. "Or any girls wanderin around pickin flowers." He winked.

We shook hands and I started out on the long drive home.

I had a lot to think about on the way home. I was already dreading having to get back to work. And I was already planning on when I could get back up to the stream. I'd only been those few times, but I was already addicted to it. It was about the only thing I truly gave a damn about anymore.

The drive was kinda lonely, but I didn't mind loneliness so much, really. Not since a long time ago. It was almost like I craved it. I never got lonely on the stream. How could I? What with strange pretty girls there and ravens that stole from me and then started talking to me, wanting to be friends.

"Damn!" I thought. I forgot to tell Flynn about the raven. I wondered if he'd even believe me. Most likely would, I figured. He believed about the girl. Or at least did a good job of acting like he believed.