The Old Man And The River
© 2009 - William C. Highsmith

The old man no longer bothered to shave every day. His grizzled face had lines that told a story of long years in a beautiful but sometimes harsh land.

Some folks called him Roy but to the one that mattered most, he was simply Grandpa. The young boy was the son of his own son and on this early spring day, it was time to go fishing.

The day was clear and still quite cool. The snow was mostly melted away and had left areas that were very damp and sometimes slippery. This was a time for old men to be very careful not to slip and break a hip.

From his room, in his son's home, Roy could see the river and hear the low roar as it moved along its journey to the sea. Roy had lived in the area all his life and knew every dip and turn of the river for miles in either direction. Some parts were simply roiling while others were placid pools with ice still remaining.

"Grandpa! What are you waiting for? I want to go fishing!" cried Jimmy.

"Hold on boy. I have to get the tackle ready. We want to catch enough for supper. I promised your Mother" said Roy.

Finally, with two cane poles readied and some grubs and earthworms coaxed from their winter hiding near the base of the house, the two friends began to walk the short distance to the 'best spot' on the river.

"Grandpa, How do you know where the fish are gonna be?" asked the boy.

"Well, I've been fishing this river, since I was no bigger than you. My daddy taught me how to find the holes that are likely to have fish in them. Some places in this river, a man can walk across and other places are deep. What we want to look for is a place near the small rapids but not actually in them. We want to find a place where the water is quieter. The fish will come into these areas to rest and feed. We drop a line in there with a nice juicy grub, and they just can't resist it."

After walking along the banks, for about a quarter of a mile, the fishing partners approached a bend in the river. All the while, the old man was teaching his grandson. In the soft mud were the tracks of some creature that had come to get a drink. There were plants to learn about - which ones were edible and which ones were to be avoided. Finally, the first stop. The bend in the river had washed out the earth from under a large rock that jutted out from the bank. Here, the water was quiet and deep. Just yards away, the water rippled over the smaller rocks near the middle of the flow. The overall width of the stream in this area was only about twenty yards.

"Jimmy - climb up on that big rock. Be careful now! Now take these poles and lay them down. I'll climb up there too, and we are fixin' to catch our supper. If there is nobody home in this hole, we'll go to another, I know about." After helping the youngster bait the hook, the boy dropped the line into the water and almost immediately a nice pan size fish grabbed the yellow grub. "Here, Here! Hold the line tight - That's my boy. Your first fish of the season. Your Mother will be proud!" The fish was hooked and so was the boy. He was ready for more fishing.

This scene brought back memories. Roy's mind drifted back some sixty years to a time when this same scenario had played out between himself and his father. How he missed the hero of his life! If these rocks and trees could talk, they would tell of another little boy who walked these banks and learned to appreciate the gifts of God. Looking upstream, he could see the mouth of the canyon where it originated. He knew from experience that if one walked the banks towards the canyon, he would see the many waterfalls from high up the walls and the seeps that came from other places - all to feed the stream. The stream was home to many fish and beavers, and provided sustenance to the birds, deer, and bears, and much joy to a little boy.

After less than two hours of fishing and dreaming, the stringer held a number of nice 'eating size' fish.

"Well boy, looks like we have enough for supper. Let's go show your Ma."

By William C. Highsmith - September 23, 2009



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