“Yes. Positive. Will doesn’t have an ultralight. I have one, at least. It doesn’t break down, but at least I have one. And besides, I’ll get something from Mom, too. I’m the one who wants to learn to fly-fish anyway. What good would that do Will? He hasn’t even learned to trout-fish with bait yet. Will should get the rod.” I felt like I was talking too much. Like I was trying to talk myself into it.
Uncle Max looked right into my face, and I had to look away, because I knew that look was a compliment, and compliments make me nervous. In my head I was begging him not to say anything nice out loud.
He must’ve heard me.
“So be it,” he said. “Ernie has spoken.”
“Thanks, though. For the collapsible rod. That was a really nice present.”
I don’t think Uncle Max likes compliments, either. All he said was, “Yeah, well. You know you’re my favorite nephew.”
My mom had about four helpings of turkey. She’s not a big fan of anything green. She had two helpings of fruit salad, too. That was the only time she said anything about the dinner. She said, “You know, I always forget how good fresh fruit can be.”
I wondered what she was going to eat when she got home.
After dinner we opened our presents.
Will looked really surprised when Uncle Max handed him a package to open. He ripped the paper off all at once. Didn’t split the tape and keep it all nice like me and my mom. Well, like my mom. I just do it because she does it.
“Wow,” he said. “That is so cool.” He extended it to its full length. Only about four and a half feet. Whipped it back and forth and watched it whistle through the air. Sampson got scared and hid behind the couch. “It’s so light.”
“It’s an ultralight,” I said. “That’s what you use for trout.”
“That’s so nice,” he said. “That’s so nice that you guys got me something. Something really nice.” His face looked serious and deep. It worried me. It reminded me of the time he instant-messaged me and thanked me for being his friend. And I knew right away something was wrong. Because it isn’t like Will to get mushy.
But the moment blew over because I opened my present from my mom. It was a big one, all right. It was amazing. It was this 49ers jacket with leather sleeves. This really warm, thick, padded black wool jacket with brown leather sleeves. And these SF patches and NFL patches and stuff. And on the back this special white oval patch sewn on, and on it was Terrell Owens’s autograph. It was just the coolest thing I had ever seen in my life. I couldn’t even talk. All I could do was stare at it with my mouth open and touch all the different parts of it, like I couldn’t believe they were all true.
Uncle Max said, “I think he likes it, Lila.”
The first words out of my mouth were not the very brightest. I think I was still in shock. Good shock, but shock. “Oh my God, it must’ve cost a fortune.”
“You don’t worry about that,” my mother said. “You just enjoy it.”
“Oh my God, it’s amazing. It’s the most amazing thing ever.”
I got up and put it on, suddenly scared it wouldn’t fit. Even though it was really big. What if I was bigger? It fit. It even snapped up. It was kind of tight around my stomach, but it had elastic at the waist anyway, so it didn’t really matter. Much.
“This is the most amazing present I’ve ever gotten. This is amazing.” I knew I was saying the word amazing a lot, but I couldn’t seem to stop. All of a sudden I was really glad I’d given the best Uncle Max present to Will. I would’ve felt so bad if I got that jacket and he got nothing, or even nothing very good.
“I can’t take this up to the cabin, though. It’ll get dirty.”
“Nonsense,” my mom said. “It’s to wear, not to hang on the wall.”
“But what if something happens to it? What if it gets messed up?”
“Then we get it cleaned.”
“No, we can’t get it cleaned, it might ruin the autograph.”
“The autograph is done in permanent marker. It can be dry-cleaned.”
“You’re sure?”
“I checked.”
I figured I would take it up there with me. But I wasn’t sure I would wear it. I just wasn’t sure I could bring myself to take a chance with it. What if I caught it on some barbed wire climbing over the fence? What if I hooked it with a fishhook or something?
But when I had to go back to school, then I’d wear it every day. All the time. Even in class. I felt like I’d be cool if I just wore that jacket all the time. Like I wouldn’t even be the fat boy anymore. Or, anyway, like it wouldn’t even matter that I was.
* * *
When Will and I were lying in the twin beds in Uncle Max’s guest room that night, trying to get to sleep, Will said, “Did your uncle really get the rod and reel for me? Or did he just give it to me at the last minute so I’d have something to open?”
I hate to lie. But I made an exception. “He really got it for you,” I said. “We talked about what to get you. He got you the rod so you’d have something to learn to trout-fish with. And so you can do it on your own if you like it.”
I could hear Sampson snoring in the corner.
“Well, that was pretty nice. I thought maybe he got it for you, because … well, the fly-tying kit is okay, I guess. If you’re into fly tying. But the rod really seems like a much better present.”
“Yeah, but he knows I want to get into fly tying. Besides, he knew my mother was getting me something really big.”
“Yeah, the jacket is cool. Even I think so, and I hate football. Your family is a lot better than the Manson family. Not that the Manson family sets the bar very high or anything. What if I don’t like trout fishing, though?”
“You will,” I said. “I know you will.” I had to believe it. I felt like trout fishing could really save Will. Give him back something he loved to do, like saltwater fishing used to be. Before you-know-what happened. Besides, if he really loved it as much as I did, maybe he wouldn’t want to take time off to go hunting. Maybe we could just fish the whole time. And maybe, just maybe … we could even talk for real.
We drove up to the cabin the next morning, which is up in the mountains, at like six thousand feet. The four of us. I say four because I’m counting Sampson. Good thing Uncle Max has an extra cab. Peaches didn’t get to come. My mom would have been too lonely without Peaches for the holidays.
We had chains for the tires, just in case, but we were lucky. There was no snow.
I was wearing my new jacket, and I felt like a whole new me. But I was still worried a little about it, too, so I asked Uncle Max, “Did the jacket cost a fortune? I mean, can she afford this?”
“Let that be her worry, Ernie. Yes, she went all out, but that was her choice. She knows you’ve been having a rough time, and she wanted to do something special for you. She’ll manage.”
We stopped for gas at that little town where the gas station sells bait.
“How many cartons of worms should I get, Uncle Max?”
“Oh, if they have the twenty-five count, I’d say two. We can always get more down at the store by Marble Pools.”
Will and I went in while Uncle Max filled the tank.
“Worms?” Will asked. “You fish for trout with worms?”
“You don’t have to,” I said. “You can use artificial bait.
Power Bait. Or spinners. Or salmon eggs. But I always have the best luck with live night crawlers. Why? You have a problem with worms?”
“Well, they’re just kind of gross is all.”
“Oh, come on. This from a guy who hooks squid heads right between the eyes?”
“Yeah, but the squid is dead. It doesn’t wiggle.”
I rolled my eyes at him. “Fine. I’ll bait the hooks.”
“No, no. I’m not a total wimp. I’ll deal with it.”
While we were there, we also had to get a freshwater stamp for Will’s fishing license, because his license was for salt water only.
While the lady wa
s ringing us up, he lifted one of the lids off a worm carton and looked in. They always lie around on the top if they’re good and fresh. I thought I saw him shudder just a little bit.
Turned out Will wasn’t big on getting up early, so in the morning Uncle Max and I drove in his truck down to Brightwater Creek. Just as the sky was beginning to get light. So we could cast our lines into the water just when it was light enough for the trout to see our worms. That’s the best time to fish. And it was nice, in a way, just me and Uncle Max, like in the old days. Like for as long as I can remember.
I caught one in the big, flat pool by the campground, and he caught two, all about twelve inches or so. Uncle Max has an old-fashioned creel, kind of a little wicker basket for fish, with a carrying strap. We put them in that and let it sit in the water.
It was cold at that hour. Man. Probably high twenties. I was wearing gloves with the fingers cut away, but when I had to handle a fish, it just left my fingers numb. I could hardly feel well enough to bait my hook again.
When it got light enough, Uncle Max asked if I felt like hiking up to the waterfall. That’s, like, my favorite place in the whole, entire world. There’s a trail up to it, so you don’t have to rock-hop. We hiked up there, and the hike made me feel much warmer.
The waterfall is about fifty feet high, and it’s really hard to get up above it. It can be done, if you don’t mind sweating. Or getting scratched, or getting poison oak. But the best fishing pool I know is right at the base of it. Right at the back of the basin, where the waterfall carves out an extra-deep pool. I have no idea how deep it is, but it’s just about deeper than any other part of the creek that I know of. Plus it’s really bouldery up there, so I know there are lots of spaces for the fish to hide.
We baited our hooks again at the base of the falls. I looked up, and it was just as beautiful as I remembered. Green moss hanging down on the rocks, with three thin strands of water pouring down. I think I love the sound more than anything else. At the end of a good fishing day I like to lie in bed and remember the sound of the falling water.
I picked out a big, fat crawler so I could cast over to the deep part of the pool without having to artificially weight my line. I cast, and watched the worm land right where I wanted him to, right on that big dark patch that spells deep water. At first he just hung there under the surface, wiggling around. Then he sank, slowly, swishing his long body back and forth. I love to watch that. And so do the trout. I let out a little more line so he could go all the way to the bottom. Left my bail open the way I like to do. Next thing I know, more line was pulling off the reel. Three or four more wraps, like the line was swimming away. I love that moment. I snapped the bail shut, set the hook, and reeled in, waiting to see what I’d hooked. Hoping to see a great, giant natural brown. But what I saw was a rainbow. You can tell right away. There’s a special flash to a rainbow. I pulled him all the way in and up out of the water, and he thrashed at the end of the hook, throwing droplets of freezing water into my face. I looked up and saw a little rainbow of colors in the mist thrown up by the waterfall. The other kind of rainbow.
“I bet you were hoping to see that big native brown,” Uncle Max said.
I called him Moby, but only in my own head. I wouldn’t tell Uncle Max that. It would sound silly. “Think he’s still in here?”
“My neighbor two cabins over said he caught a twenty-inch brown in this pool.”
My heart fell down. “Oh. He’s gone, then.”
“He threw it back.”
“Really? You’re not making it up?”
“I never lie to you, Ernie. I tell you the truth, not what I think you want to hear. He had so much respect for the fact that it lived to grow so big, without being caught, that he just couldn’t bring himself to keep it. I told him how you caught that fish—or one just like it—last summer, but then it threw the hook just as you were bringing its head up out of the water.”
“I would’ve kept him, though.”
“Well, that’s a decision we all have to make for ourselves.”
I put my rainbow trout in the creel and cast in again. I got nibbles right away, but when I went to set my hook, there was nothing there. I reeled in to check my bait, and sure enough, it’d been stolen. I put on another worm and tried again.
This time we both just sat for a while, and nothing even nibbled. But it was so nice, just sitting there under the waterfall right after sunrise. I was happy whether I ever caught another fish or not.
Uncle Max said, “How’s Will been doing since he got out of the hospital?”
“Hard to say. Because we don’t really talk. I mean, we talk. But not about that.” We were almost whispering, because that’s what you do around trout. “The only time he ever mentioned it—” Then I decided I shouldn’t have started that sentence, and I didn’t want to finish it.
Uncle Max doesn’t push on stuff like that. He just said, “Up to you, Ernie.”
“Well, he didn’t sound real happy about the way it worked out. He didn’t seem like he appreciated being saved. He acted like he really wanted to die. But I don’t believe that, though. Because if he really wanted to die, he wouldn’t have tipped me to what he was going to do.”
“Sounded like a cry for help. I agree.”
“Then why isn’t he glad I helped him?”
“I don’t know. Maybe he is and he can’t admit it. Maybe he will be later. That’s not the important part anyway. The important part is, do you think you did the right thing?”
“Oh, absolutely. Yeah.”
“Then that has to be enough.”
After that we just fished quietly for another twenty minutes or so, but we didn’t get so much as a nibble. But we had four nice ones in the creel, so Uncle Max said, “I think they’ve just plain stopped biting. Let’s go back and have breakfast with what we’ve got. When Will’s eaten trout this fresh for breakfast, then maybe he’ll be happy to be alive.”
“That just might do it,” I said.
Thing is, we were only about half kidding.
* * *
About noon Will and I went fishing up by the waterfall at Brightwater Creek. I just really wanted to show him that. Him being from L.A. and all, I wasn’t sure he knew places that beautiful could even exist.
Uncle Max drove us down in his truck and gave us quarters for the pay phone at the campground, so we could call when we needed a ride back. And he packed us a good lunch. Big turkey sandwiches on whole wheat bread, with cranberry sauce.
We started out in the big pool down by the campground, but it did not go well. To put it mildly. We’d made the mistake of taking Sampson with us. Seemed like a good idea at the time. We walked right up to that pool, and Will sucked in his breath, and I could tell he was amazed to just see the trout gliding around under the water.
Unfortunately, Sampson saw them, too, and went diving right in. Galloped around in the pool, which is mostly less than two feet deep, biting into the water like he could catch one. Of course, by the time his front paws hit the water, the trout had all run to cover. So he didn’t catch one. And now neither would we.
Then he leaped out again, like he really surprised himself by how cold it was.
Sampson was a big, silly-looking yellow mutt. He looked like he had a lot of golden retriever or golden Lab, but then something wirehaired, too. So he had a kind of a stiff beard. Which was dripping wet. He shook himself and sprayed freezing creek water over both of us. Good thing I wasn’t wearing my new jacket.
I leaned over a fallen log and looked into the pond. Not a trout in sight. Like they all moved and left no forwarding address.
“Well, that won’t help,” I said.
“Won’t they come out again?”
“Well, eventually.”
“How long a memory can a trout have?”
“They’re just very spooky creatures. You have no idea how easy it is to scare them off. I think we need to climb up to a higher pool. And this time we need to tie that dog up. Come on. I want
to show you the waterfall anyway.”
We hiked up there, puffing a little. Well, I was puffing a lot. I had all the tackle in my backpack. Will just had his new rod, collapsed and sticking out of the waistband of his jeans. The sandwich was burning a hole in my pocket, so I ate half of it on the way up. When we got up there, his mouth fell wide open. At first I didn’t even look at the waterfall. I just looked at Will looking at the waterfall.
He said, “That’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”
I wanted to say, See? Now aren’t you glad you’re still around to see it? But I didn’t, of course. I wanted to, but I didn’t. I kept seeing moments to talk for real, but then they went by. I don’t know why I couldn’t just say what I wanted to say to him.
Will just kept going. “I thought places like this were only in pictures. Oh, that’s a stupid thing to say. I didn’t mean that exactly. I just mean I thought I’d only ever see a thing like that in a picture. I never thought I’d be in a place like this.”
While he was talking, I put a worm on his hook.
He looked down. “Oh. Thank you.” He sounded kind of surprised, like he just woke up or something. He was holding Sampson’s collar. Then he came around, like shaking himself awake, and tied Sampson to a tree with my chain stringer.
“Try to cast over to the waterfall. It’s deepest right underneath. That’s where all the good fish are. But be gentle when you cast. If you put too much of a snap on it, you’ll knock the worm right off there.”
“Okay.” He swung the rod back and forth a few times to get the feel of it. Then he cast in a nice, high arc, and the worm actually landed on one of the rocks under the falls. So he reeled it in a couple of turns, and it dropped right into deep water.
I bent down to bait my own hook, but before I even could, Will said, “I got a bite! I got a bite already!”
I watched as it came through the water, and my heart just sank. He was reeling in an enormous natural brown. A good twenty inches. Will had caught Moby.
“He’s big. He’s bending my rod almost in half.”
“Loosen the drag a little. It’s only a four-pound line. A fish that big could break it. Don’t worry about the rod. It’s flexible. It won’t break.”
Diary of a Witness Page 9
