The Moose Jaw by Mike Delany

of line, and cast upstream.  My red streamer settled in the current, slipped below the surface and drifted down past me.  I paid out a little more line and, when nothing struck, flipped the fly back upstream with a roll cast.  It had just submerged when – STRIKE!   My line went taut and I lifted the rod tip and pulled down hard with my strip hand.  The hook set, and the rod bent under a heavy weight.  I didn’t want any splashing and thrashing on the surface; that would attract the attention of the bears.  I didn’t want them getting excited and joining the fun.  I preferred to land this one by myself.  I lowered the rod tip a bit and relaxed my grip on the line.  The salmon took up the slack and ran upstream, but, much to my relief it stayed underwater.  I let it run half way to the boars, then applied gentle pressure and turned it into the fast water.  The tension went out of the rod and I stripped in line as quickly as I could without too much frantic activity.  As the salmon came down the current and passed me, I tightened my grip again and the line, once more, went taut.  The rod took the fish’s weight and bent under the strain.  I gave him enough line to run halfway to the sow before turning him.  I guided him across, then back up the stream.  He was strong and I had to repeat this give-and-take for five runs before I could feel him tiring – all the time keeping mindful of the bears.  On one upstream run, I let him go too far, and the boar on the opposite bank stopped his fishing and suddenly stood up in the current to look my way.  I was ready to snap the line and make a dash for the camp, but he quickly lost interest when another salmon rolled at his feet and he plunged in after it.
    When I judged the salmon to be tired enough, I eased him out of a downstream run and guided him into the shallows where I stood.  He was still making swimming motions, but was listing a few degrees to starboard.  Very good.  Slowly now.  As I took in line, a little at a time, he slid across the rocks of the bottom and rolled on his side - KERSPLASH!…KAPLOOSH!…KERPLASH!  He started flipping and thrashing in the shallows.
    I shot a quick glance both upstream and down.  All three bears had gone still and were looking my way.  I tried clamping a foot down on top of the frantic fish.  It was no good, he was too slippery and he squirted out from under the tread of my boot, churning spray and clattering rocks as he did.  I lost my balance and fell backward, sitting down hard in the shallow water at the stream’s edge, making an even bigger splash than the salmon had. 
    The boar on my side of the stream couldn’t contain his curiosity.  All this splashing about was just too enticing.  He began ambling downstream to see what all the excitement was about.  I didn’t wait.  Without bothering to get up out of the water I grabbed a fist sized rock and, unceremoniously, smashed it down on the salmon’s head.  Then I took hold of the line a foot above the hook, snatched the quivering fish out of the water, scrambled to my feet and made a hasty retreat toward the camp.  The sow didn’t move, but watched me with interest as I squished and sloshed my way dripping out of the creek, and up the bar, the salmon dangling, stunned and helpless from my hand.  If I didn’t know better, I would have sworn I saw amusement in those cold, steely, little eyes.  There was no salvaging my dignity; at least I escaped with my catch. 
    When I reached the tent I took a glance back over my shoulder.  The inquisitive boar now stood in the creek, water dripping from his chest and paws.  All three bears, in fact, were still looking up at me.  One of the cubs had even broken off mauling his sibling, and now stood over his vanquished rival watching me in wonder.  Maybe I should take a bow.  Well, at least my first day among them hadn’t gone unnoticed.  My neighbors weren’t likely to forget that remarkable