disbelief. But by now he was beginning to tire, and it was increasingly important that I bring him to hand before he lost any more of his strength and will. And so I eased off the pressure, holding the little 1-weight high in the air, applying only enough tension to hold him in place until I could work my way into position next to him. For a moment he lay there in the shallows, and the rich colors along his upturned side and the sky reflecting from the water's lapping surface compelled me to pull my camera from my pocket and shoot a quick photo before easing him into deeper water, then backward into the net.
I
never touched him or lifted him from the stream. I could see the tiny fly sitting forward inside his upper jaw, and it was easy enough to reach with my hemostat and rotate the barbless hook from the roof of his mouth. He quickly oriented himself upright to the current and forward in the net, moving steadily side to side as he expressed his single-minded desire to be free. But I was not ready for him to leave. Not yet.
For I wanted to watch as he undulated there in the flow, the rim of my old net held just a few inches above the surface of the stream and still surrounding him. I wanted to be sure he was fully vital and confident before I loosed him back into the creek and myself back into this cool, summer morning. And when he finally swore at me and tried to dive and then flipped water up into my face, I swept the old net from beneath him and watched as he disappeared into the dark and brooding waters from which he'd come.
Note: The author always welcomes your comments, questions and input. Keep in touch at Mike@ AltizerCommunications.com.
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