Session 3

Zwwit Zwwit, the line flashes overhead This way and that. It lays itself down, a thin, puckering seam Almost invisible on the water. At the seam's end floats a fuzzy fly. The shadow rises to meet it, then it's gone. Back and forth, the song becomes a dance. Father lets line out as it darts into the deep. The reel clicks slowly, and the fish returns. The rod points to a dark flicker beneath the water. The dance is almost over.

Father cups his hand in the water and brings up the fish, Sparkling in the sunshine. "A rainbow," he says and holds it out for me to see. It lies there, wide-eyed, its gills ruffling with each gasp. The rainbow arc along its side glimmers Green and blue and yellow like oil on asphalt.

"TARA," dad said as he poured himself a cup of coffee, "I'd really like you to come with me to Rainbow Creek." "C'mon, Dad. I really don't want to go fishing," Tara said, rolling her eyes as she swirled the cornflakes around in the bowl with her spoon. Dad was always trying to get her to do the nerdiest things. Sometimes she wished her mom were still alive. Mom would understand her. She'd take her to do fun things, not fly-fishing! "I bet you'd enjoy it. You don't want to go, because you don't know how to fly-fish; you've never tried," said Dad. "It'll be great. We can leave early on Saturday. I even got you your own pair of waders." He rummaged through a paper shopping bag on the counter. "They're specially made, waterproof over- alls so you can walk in the creek," Dad said, holding up a dark purple foam suit that looked to Tara like something she would wear to go scuba-diving. "Dad, I think Anna's having a slumber party on Saturday, and I don't want to miss it." "Well, that'll work out just fine. We'll leave at 5:00 A.M. on Saturday, and you'll be back in time for the party." Dad sat down next to her at the kitchen table. "5:00 A.M.! That's way too early! I guess you think the early bird gets the worm, right?" Tara added. "We're fly-fishing; we won't have to use any worms." "That's good. Worms are pretty gross." Tara made a dis- gusted face. "I guess I'll go with you," she said, carrying her dishes to the sink. On Saturday morning, Tara and her dad were at Rainbow Creek just as the morning light began to dance on the rippling water. She felt funny in the waders, like a big, stiff mummy wrapped in cushy material. At first it was hard to walk in the water, but she got used to it, pointing her feet diagonally to the current, in the direction she was going. "This looks good, Tara," Dad said, settling on a deep hole that was shaded by some blackberry bushes and a couple of pine trees. He handed her a rod rigged up with a small, imita- tion insect. He told her it was a nymph, a young caddisfly--sort of like a moth that was still changing in its cocoon. Tara watched her dad practice casting the fly into the water. With his right arm he lifted the rod back until it was almost perfectly straight up in the air; then he watched the line sail above his head and behind him. At the same time, his left hand pulled on the loop of the line that hung down from the rod, forcing the fly line back toward him. As the line came back into the rod, he moved his right hand forward to thrust the fly out over the water; it was as if he were a frog with a giant tongue that zipped in and out after the fly. After a couple of false castings. Dad would really stretch his right hand out and land the fly on the water. It drifted and sank as he let out the line with his left hand so that it wouldn't drag in the water. The whole trick was to make it look natural so the fly seemed to belong there. "O.K., now you try," her dad called out. The first couple of times, Tara got the fly out only a few feet into the wide creek, and once she got her line stuck in the blackberry brambles, but after some practice, she found herself getting better at it, and was even, to her surprise, having fun. "Hey, I've got a bullhead fish on!" her dad shouted across the stream to Tara. "I'm coming over," Tara hollered back. She waded carefully to where her father was struggling with the feisty fish. As she peered into the clear water, she saw its greenish gray scales flashing beneath the rocks. "Dad," she said, laughing, "that is about the tiniest fish I've ever seen!" It looked like a miniature catfish, but it didn't have any whiskers. Her dad looked annoyed and moved closer to the fish as he reeled in his line. He backed up over the big rocks that bordered the pool where it was hiding. Dad took a step too far and then . . . splash! He fell backward into a sinkhole, where the water came up to his shoulders. His waders were filling, and all Tara could do was stare in amazement and cover her mouth to keep from laughing. "Good grief!" her dad cried, pulling himself up. About the only part of him that seemed to be dry was his lucky hat. The little bullhead wriggled itself off the hook and swam away. "Sorry, Dad. That was pretty funny," said Tara, stifling a giggle. "Yeah, yeah. Very funny," Dad said. "The one that got away, huh?" He picked up his rod and searched his shirt pocket for his truck keys. "Ready to go, kid?" he asked. "No way, I was just getting good here," Tara said. "Well, I've got to get out of these wet clothes. I've got some rain pants in the truck. The waders only keep you dry if you don't fall in, you know." He walked toward the shore, leaking water everywhere. "Can't I fish for just a minute while you go change?" Tara asked. "O.K., but I'll be right back, and then we better go." Tara cast her nymph out into the creek and watched it get sucked into the secret whirlpools and riffles of the water. On her second cast, she felt a tug on her line. Her heart was racing as she started to reel the fish in, just as she'd seen Dad do. She looked back toward the path, but her father was probably already at the truck by now. The fish raced around the creek. She watched her line move as it dove beneath rocks and coasted in shallow pools. She inched closer to the fish until finally she stood above it, looking down. It was a metallic flash in the water, flailing and flipping. She reached down to grab it when . . . zip! The fish took off up the creek and her line poured out of her reel again. Tara reeled in as much as she could while she walked slowly on the slippery rocks toward its new hiding place. The fish must have seen her coming, though, because it zoomed out of the shade and into a deep pool, where it dove under some rocks! Tara reeled in, and the fish yanked back. Again and again she played tug of war with it until finally the tired fish came toward her, shimmying through the pebbles and stones. She looked back toward the path, but Dad wasn't there. Taking a deep breath, Tara reached down into the water and, with shaking hands, picked up her glimmering prisoner. The fish wasn't slimy at all. In fact, it didn't even smell very fishy. It was a pretty silver color with tiny speckles of magnetic and brown on its back. Its clear eyes seemed to stare at her. The fish waggled in her hands, so she held it gently but firmly. "O.K., fish," she said, "let me help you." Her hand grabbed on to the hook that was stuck in the fish's lip. Trembling as she tried to work it free, she heard a fleshy noise that sounded like a wishbone cracking at Thanksgiving. "I'm sorry, little fish. I don't mean to hurt you." She pulled back on the hook until it finally came loose, and a tiny spot of blood appeared on its lip. She could feel that the fish's heartbeat was almost as fast as her own. She had to let it go now; it needed oxygen from the water. She put the fish down into the pool, and it stayed treading water for a moment before it swam away. "Hey, what's going on?" her dad called as he walked down the path toward her. He had on green rain pants and his work boots, but his corduroy shirt was still wet. "Dad," Tara said, "I caught a fish! It was so pretty: silver with speckles on it." She climbed out of the water, carefully holding up her fishing rod. "Where is it now?" he asked. "I let it go," Tara said. "Yes," he paused, "but how did you let it go?" "I reached in the water and grabbed it and pulled the hook out," she said matter-of-factly. "Tara, you're amazing!" Dad said, shaking his head. "A natural, just like your morn." "Mom fished?" Tara asked in disbelief. "She sure did. We used to come here together. Your mom caught a fish on her first cast practically every time." "Cool," Tara said with a big smile. "So, Dad, Rainbow Creel was your special place, then?" "Yeah," he said quietly. "Well, now it's our special place." Tara took her dad's hand and together they walked back to the truck.