Holding Waters 2

You feel the rush as your float dips under the surface; you come back hard on the rod and feel the first couple head shakes.  

You see the flash under the water of a chrome fish writhing back and forth trying to shake lose, you reel down and bury the hook good this time.  

Now he knows he’s hooked and he’s heading hell bent for the ocean.  

You desperately swing your rod tip up river and try to turn his head before he reaches the tailout.  

You’ve got no choice… and this is no ordinary fish, your guide jerks the anchor and the chase is on!  

Over the tailout and through the rapids below, as you try to keep your balance and composure.  

You send out a prayer and promise all sorts of things if you can just land this fish.  

Someone upstairs is listening as you make it through the boulder garden still attached.  

The long gravel bar ahead looks like a good place to wage battle if you can just hang on a little longer.  

Your thumbs are burning and forearms ache from the beast’s volley of screaming runs.  

Your guide drops anchor near shore and gives the order to hit the beach, everyone bails out as you try to gather yourself on the basketball sized rocks.  

You get your first glimpse of his tail and you swear it’s a foot across, with a fully intact adipose fin that only a fish this remarkable could have.  

You slowly gain line now as you make it down to the softer water, your guide is instructing something, but your heart is racing and you only hear about half of it.  

The fish turns his head towards shore as you start to get the upper hand; he gives one last valiant burst of speed to the opposite bank then turns back again.  

You lift on the rod and get his head up, your guide can barely fit his hand around the tail, he slides his other hand under the fish’s belly.  

You rush to his side and try to immerse yourself in the images of the beast’s beauty, hoping to burn the memories into your minds eye so you can conjure up the vision forever.  

A quick Kodak moment later and you release him back to the depths, letting him slide out through your finger tips as if you were longingly saying goodbye to a loved one, keeping contact to the very last second.  He slaps his tail on the water, splashing your face a little, and rockets away in a blink.  

A great battle it was, fought and won, not with a foe that you felt you must conquer, but with a kindred spirit, forever swishing his tail in the holding waters of your soul.

Robert Strong
www.ruckusoutfitters.com