Zero Limit

Fish hard - play hard - live hard. But be safe.

Mark was in the middle of a good dream, but after he woke couldn't
recall what it was about.  He put on his glasses and checked the time
across his room.

2:03 a.m.  An hour and a half of sleep just didn't cut it that night.

Arrgghhh.  What he wouldn't do for a few more hours of rest.  Mark
ignored his fatigue and slumped out of bed, slapping on the light
switch.  The lights made his lovebirds chirp as the lights startled 
them
from their rest.  They were just as irritated as Mark to be up at this
ridiculous hour.

Again, Mark stayed up late when he should have been in bed early.
Instead of watching a movie, talking to his roommates, or even cleaning
up his room, Mark stayed up for something totally stupid - reading the
personal relationship ads in the Chronicle.  

Singlehood has its drawbacks.  He didn't know if he was actually 
serious
about responding to anything.  It was simply comforting to see that
there were other people out there in a similar situation as himself.
Comforting enough that Mark even wrote his own personal ad.  

What the heck, he thought, it was free, and he sure as hell didn't have
time to meet people on his own.  If all else failed, at least he might
make a few new friends.

Mark spent about an hour trying to fit his bio into the allotted ad
space.  He had to express his personality, interests, humor, and 
desires
into 175 spaces or less.  Maybe he was taking this thing a little too
far?  He finally settled with:

	0-Limit flyfisher, mountaineer, runner, 
	rockclimber, romantic seeks best friend, 
	teacher, student, lover to keep up or give
	me reason to slow down.  SPM (single-
	professional-male), 29, 5'11", Cal-grad.

He was definitely taking this a little too far.  Mark even started the
ad with the number "0" so it would be listed first in the "Men Seeking
Women" section.  That way, more potential partners would read it.  

Then he started to debate if he really wanted to place the ad.  

Am I that desperate? he thought.  That lonely?  

Neither.  But he just wasted an hour writing the ad so he thought he
might as well make the call and submit it.  After the call, Mark 
finally
went to bed but spent the next half hour tossing and debating about the
ad.  It wasn't until after 12:30 a.m. that he finally fell asleep.

Now, it was just past 2 a.m. and Mark was grumpy.  Really grumpy.   He
promised  himself that he'd call first thing Monday morning and cancel
the ad.  

After all, he told himself, I really am happy with my lifestyle.  I
can't imagine changing it in order to fit in a relationship.  A lover
maybe, but not a steady girlfriend.  Hmmm...maybe I just haven't met 
the
right woman to "give me reason to slow down."  Even then, would any
woman ever be happy with me leaving at 3 a.m. to go fishing?  Or 6 a.m.
to go running?  Or almost every weekend for an outdoor adventure?

Mark had been single for so long that he forgot what it was like to be
in love.  And then none of these questions would even be asked.

He focused now on the task at hand - showering, packing his gear, and
leaving within the next hour.  He still had to make the trek over the
bridge and pick up Jack at 3:30 a.m., then Bill at 3:45 a.m., then 
Sally
and Stephanie at 4 a.m.

He'd done so many last minute trip departures that it has become a
science for him.  This was a fishing trip, so a lot less gear was
needed.  It also helped that they were only going to make it a day 
trip,
so all camping gear could be left behind.

Originally, they were planning to leave on Friday evening after work 
and
stay until Sunday.  But then work and a last minute family dinner made
Mark decide that a quick day trip would be better.  He called Jack, his
fly fishing partner for the past three years, and Jack said a day trip
was preferable.  Mark then called Bill and Sally about the change in
plans.  Neither looked forward to driving 4 hours, fishing from 9 a.m.
to 5 p.m., then driving back another 4 hours.  The worst part was
leaving from Berkeley by 4 a.m.

"I'm not going to twist your arm," Mark told them, "This is actually
pretty hard core fishing that only Jack and I are really into.  We 
drive
and fish like this a lot."

Bill said he didn't want to go.

"That's pretty crazy," he said.

Sally said she'd talk it over with her friend Stephanie and get back
with an answer later.

"That's pretty crazy," she said.

Mark waited less than an hour before both called back separately.

"I'm in," they both told him.  

Nice to know I'm not the only crazy person in the bunch, he thought.  
He
made a note to officially baptize them as hard core fly fishers on the
trip.  Fly fishing baptism, like in most religions, requires submersion
in water.  He hoped that the waters of the Upper Sacramento River
wouldn't be too frigid, or that they wouldn't be too mad after the
baptism . . .


--  o  --


"So," Mark asked as he sped along I-80, "What experience do you have 
fly
fishing?"

"Never been," Sally said.  "I've only done lake and ocean fishing with
bait."

Mark was happy that he would have the opportunity to convert a bait
fisher to the religion of fly fishing.  Yes.  Another disciple from the
throws of Christianity and into the Church of  Trout.

"I've fly fished in Minnesota," Bill responded next, "But not a whole
lot of river fishing.  Mostly just lakes, although I've fished in
Yellowstone."

That comment woke Jack from his snoring sleep.  Bumps in the road 
didn't
wake Jack.  Loud trucks didn't wake Jack.  But mention of Yellowstone
did.

"Yellowstone?" Jack said dreamily about the Snake River, "Ahhh...Yes.
The holy land."  Amen.

"Yeah," Bill responded, "Good fishing." Hallelujah.

With that, Jack went back to sleep.  Mark drove on and began
proselytizing.

"Since you've never been, let me tell you about fly fishing," Mark 
said.
He began quoting from Needham, Chapter 2, verse 6, "The first thing you
need to understand is the life of the insect - entomology.  Once you
understand the ecosystem that fish live in, you can think like a fish.
You and the fish can become one."

Mark knew this would be an important lesson.  Becoming at one with the
fish.  For without it, Sally could never reach fly fishing Nirvana -
Zero Limit.  Catch and release.  

If you are at one with the fish, you would never think to kill it, for 
a
part of you would die with it.

But Mark didn't go that far in his explanation.  In time, Sally might
come to learn the value of zero limit fishing.  The essence.  

For now, simply catching a fish would be good enough.  He stuck with 
the
basics.

Mark continued, "Jack took a fishing clinic and a guide told him that
fish know only three things:

1)  They are hungry

2)  They are scared

3)  They are lazy

I agree.  They are hungry in that they constantly search for food.  
They
are scared in that anything "unnatural" will cause them to bolt for
cover. They are lazy in that they don't want to spend much energy 
either
searching for food or just hanging out.

I'd go so far as to add a fourth characterization:

4)  They are stupid.

They are stupid in that they pretty much will put anything in their
mouth, including an "unnatural" fly, and their laziness lets fly 
fishers
figure out where the fish are in a river.

Any questions so far?" Mark asked.

Just silence from the back.  Either that meant no questions, or Mark 
had
just bored Sally, Stephanie, and Bill to sleep.

He continued anyway, mostly just to keep himself awake, "Catching a 
fish
with a fly rod requires three things:

1)  Knowing how to find fish

2)  Correct presentation of a fly to a fish

3)  Proper landing (and release) of a fish

First, you need to know how to find the fish in a river.  This is what
differentiates lake and ocean fishing from river fishing.  In an open
body of water, you can make an educated guess as to where fish will be,
but you aren't always guaranteed to be correct.  In a river, chances 
are
you will know fish are where you suspect them to be.

To find fish in the river, you need to learn how to "read" a river.
This requires thinking like a fish - to be more exact - thinking like a
lazy, scared, and hungry fish.

Since fish are lazy, they don't want to spend a lot of energy swimming.
They also don't want to spend a lot of energy looking for food, even
though they are hungry.  And, they don't want to spend a lot of energy
when bolting for cover in case a predator comes along.    Because of
this, fish in streams become very predictable.  By simply looking at a
river, you can figure out where fish will be.  Thus, you can cast
upstream from them a little, let your fly drift down to where the fish
are, and BAMM! - dinner, or in my case, picture opportunity.

Any questions so far?"

Again, silence.  

Undeterred, Mark went on and gave a very detailed explanation of what 
he
learned about reading a river and finding fish.  He had 15 years of fly
fishing experience from which to draw upon.  He had learned a lot and
willingly imparted his knowledge with the hope that others would get
hooked to fly fishing also.

Fly fishing wasn't just an excuse to get away for the weekend for Mark.
Nor was it about catching "the big one".  It was more of a life style -
a way of being.  It gave him identity.

Mark started fishing as a young boy with his father and older brothers.
His father was the strong but silent type, and all of Mark's fond
memories of his deceased father were fishing memories.  His father was
not a fly fisher.  He was a bait fisher.  That is what Mark first
learned.  Catching fish for food, and sometimes poaching one too many
from the lake by their home.  His mom would always tell them, "Oh you
boys!  We can't eat this many fish!  Why don't you throw some of them
back next time!"  Maybe that is why Mark is a zero limit fisher today.

It was Mark's eldest brother, Jonathan, who introduced him to fly
fishing - at least that's what they thought it was at the time.  They
knew nothing about casting form, drag free drift, evening hatches, pale
morning duns, or even respect for fish.

Instead, they were kids who simply caught many more fish on a fly rod
than they did on a bait rod.  They didn't even use flies on their rods
at first.  They would put a plain hook at the end of their leader, 
weigh
it down with a single split shot, and bait it with a single salmon egg.
They'd cast into the river, let it drift to the fish, then reel in
breakfast, lunch, dinner, and a midnight snack.  

It was a lot like the long bamboo rods that they used in the 
Philippines
as very young boys.  They used the length of the fly rod to dink their
bait to a place that a spinning rod couldn't reach.  Simple yet
effective.

It was Jonathan who discovered "real" fly fishing first.  On the way
home from a camping trip, Jonathan's scout troop drove by a fish
hatchery off highway 120.  The troop leader thought the boys should see
from where fish came, so he stopped and let em run loose around the
hatchery.

Jonathan was sort of a loner, even back then.  He grew tired quickly of
the hatchery, and ended up wandering off.

"I bet they've got some big poppa fish somewhere here to make the baby
fish," he thought.  Just like that, Jonathan was on a mission.

He followed the water flowing into the fish lanes until it narrowed to 
a
single, rushing source - a creek created from a dammed lake.  He 
skipped
merrily to the creek and peered down into it.  Below, Jonathan saw a
wondrous sight that he'd never forget - a solitary fly fisher casting
perfect loops into the perfect riffle with a perfect drift for the
perfect fish.  

Jonathan didn't know what he was seeing.  He only remembered thinking
that it looked really neat, and that he wanted to learn how to do it.
At that moment, the fly fisher set the hook and began a 10 minute 
battle
with a large rainbow trout.  Today, the trout won by breaking the line.
Tomorrow, maybe not.

When Jonathan got home, he asked his father about what he had seen at
the river.  His father told him the guy must have been fly fishing or
something.  Then he went back to his newspaper and Jonathon knew he was
supposed to leave his dad alone now.

The next day, Jonathan went to the library and asked the librarian 
about
fly fishing books.

"Oh, do you fly fish?" she asked him over her eyeglasses.

"No,"  he answered eagerly, "But I want to!  I really want to!"

"Well, my husband fly fishes," she explained, "Wait here one second
dear."  She went off into the back office and made a phone call.
Jonathan waited patiently, his feet dangling off the side of his chair.

"I talked to my husband," she said upon her return, "He said you should
come by here Saturday morning when he drops me off for work here.  
He'll
take you fishing then and show you how to fly fish."

Jonathan's eyes lit up.  "OK!  Well, I gotta get permission from my
daddy first.  But if says yes, I'll come!  OK!  Saturday!"

That Saturday morning, Jonathan began learning about casting form, drag
free drift, evening hatches, pale morning duns, and even respect for
fish.  Three months later, he had recruited both Mark and Eddy into
using only flies on their fly rods, just as Mr. Olmstead had taught 
him.

Mark and Eddy thought it was stupid, and they weren't catching any fish
on flies.

But Jonathan would have none of that, and he beat the crap out of both
of them until they listened and used only flies.  Mr. Olmstead would 
not
have approved, except for the part about using flies and putting the
fish back in.

Years later, it was Mark who had become Mr. Olmstead.  Teaching others
about the beauty of fly fishing.  

Mark  looked in the rear view mirror and saw that everyone was asleep.
He stopped talking about fishing and let his childhood memories occupy
the time.  He smiled and drove into the night.


--  o  --


They arrived at the river a little after 8 a.m.  Perfect time to catch 
a
morning hatch, if there was one.  The lack of sleep had caught up with
Mark and he made Jack drive the last hour and a half while he napped in
the front passenger's seat.  It was a good nap.

Mark stepped out of the car, stretched his cramped legs, and yawned
widely.  He took in a deep breath and smelled mountain air with the 
hint
of a crackling fireplace a short distance away.  Mark smiled
uncontrollably when he saw the river and breathed the crisp morning 
air.

The sun had not yet hit the river because it was hiding behind a small
range of mountains.  This made the morning colder than it should have
been, and Mark regretted wearing shorts for the drive up.

Jack got into his waders, set up his fly rod, and hit the river.  The
"beginners" were Mark's guests and therefore his responsibility.  Jack
came there to fish.

Mark set up the fly poles for Bill and Sally.  Stephanie was only there
to read by the river and keep Sally company.  Fishing was not her gig.

As soon as Bill's pole was set, he too went directly to the river.  
Mark
directed him to some good fishing holes.

"OK," Mark turned to Sally, "Let me show you how to cast."

Sally turned out to be a quick learner.  In fact, she was a natural.
Tight casting loops came easily.  The roll cast came easily.  In 30
minutes, she had mastered what took Mark one week to learn.  Either she
was good, he was a good teacher, or both.  Mark was just happy to get 
to
the river sooner than expected.  While Mark gave Sally lessons,
Stephanie would warily look up from her book and give them a look that
said, "Hey, watch where you're casting!  I'm reading here!"  Mark
ignored her, and just gave her a wink every time she seemed a little
irritated.

When the got to the river, Mark made a few casts into the river and
showed Sally how to mend her line.

"The fly will float downstream once it hits the water," he instructed,
"You need to make sure that it drifts at the 
same speed as the current.  Otherwise, you'll create what we call 
'drag'
and the fly will look unnatural to the fish.  You'll never get a fish 
to
take your fly then.  In fact, fish are so hungry and stupid most of the
time that they'll put anything in their mouth that is floating 
naturally
down stream.   If it doesn't taste good, they'll spit it out.  So
really, it may not be the fly you are using, but the drag free drift
with which you present the fly."

Mark hoped that some of this was sinking in.  He demonstrated a few 
more
casts and drag free drifts to Sally.

"Ready to try?" he asked.

"You got it!," she said eagerly.

Mark gave Sally her rod and pulled out some line for her.  She grasped
the rod butt firmly and made a perfect roll cast to an eddy behind a
rock.

"Good!" Mark said encouragingly, "Now, let it drift.  Pick up the line
and mend it when the differing currents start to create drag.  That's
it.  Good!"

Sally was a quick learner.  Mark was impressed.

"Well, you seem to have the hang of this," he told her, "I'm just going
to sit down over there and watch you for a while.  Yell if you need
help."

Mark walked over to where Stephanie was sitting and he pulled out an
orange from his vest.  He peeled it and offered Stephanie a piece.  She
declined.

"So, what got you into fly fishing," she asked, placing a bookmark in
her text book.

"Geez, long story," he answered, "My older brother I guess.  But my
father took us fishing when we were younger - bait fishing.  As long as
I can remember, I've been fishing."

"Do you fish?" he asked her.

"No," she said, "I've been a few times.  But, it just doesn't grab me
like it does Sally.  Seems kind of cruel.  You kill em or you hook em
and release em.  I just don't get it."

"I think you just need a good teacher," Mark replied, "Someone who can
really show how to appreciate what fishing is about.  For example, I
don't really fish to catch fish.  I've caught more than my fair share 
of
fish.  And I don't kill em.  Sure, I release them and I agree that this
hurts them.  But, because I release them, the fish get smarter and
harder to catch.  The next time a bait fisherman presents a salmon egg
or other to the fish, the fish might not bite.  Thus, I saved em from
certain death.  That's how I look at it.

No.  When I fish, it's about hanging out with my friend Jack, or Sally,
or Ben, or now you.  It's about getting outdoors.  It's about standing
in the middle of a river and having the water rush past you
methodically.  It's very soothing.  And then, when I'm casting, it's as
if I'm meditating.  There is a certain rhythm to the cast, a certain
form, an extension of my body and sometimes my spirit.  I'm totally
focused on where I want the fly to be, and when it hits the water, I
have to stay focused to make sure a fish will get fooled by the drift.
It's so active, but feels so passive.  Ying and Yang.  I don't know.  I
just love it.  Apparently, no one ever showed you that."

"No," Stephanie answered, "No one has.  Still though, not too appealing
to me."

"What does appeal to you?" he asked.

"The outdoors, for sure," she said, "Backpacking in God's country.
Writing in my journal after a long day.  Sitting by a river and
listening to it babble.  That sort of thing."

"Yeah,"  Mark agreed, "I understand.  For me though, this is just one
more thing I can appreciate about backpacking, or being outdoors.  If I
don't feel like just sitting there, I can pick up my rod and enjoy the
outdoors in another way.  It's nice to be able to have a lot more from
which to choose when I'm out here."

"Hmmm...," she responded, "Well, maybe one day I'll try it."

"Well, if you ever need a teacher," he offered, "I'm your guide."

"Uh...Mark...." Sally yelled, "Help.  I'm stuck."

"Gotta go!" Mark said to Stephanie.  He didn't want to leave.  He
enjoyed talking to her.  And, he thought she was absolutely gorgeous.
Reluctantly, he got up and helped unhook Sally's line from a bush she
had cast into.

As Marked walked away, Stephanie smiled.  

He's kind of cute, she thought.


--  o  --


Sally seemed to be doing well fishing on her own, so Mark went back to
the car and set up his own fly rod.  He put on his waders and got set 
to
fish.

"Hey Sally," Mark called out, "Let's head down river to a fishing hole
where I think you'll get lucky."

"OK!," she said.  Stephanie also got up and followed them down the
trail.

"Here," he showed them, "Down behind that boulder.  That's a good spot.
I always catch fish there.  Ready to get wet?"

"NO!" Sally exclaimed, "It's too cold!  Can't I just fish from the
shore?"

"I guess so," he said, "But it'll make casting a little difficult.  And
landing a fish might be harder."

He was disappointed.  He'd hoped Sally would catch a fish early on to
help encourage her.  However, since she didn't want to get into the
water, it would make access to prime fishing holes much more difficult.
Especially for a beginner.

"OK.  Why don't you try fishing from over there," he said as he pointed
out a clearing in the bushes next to the river.  Sally walked down to
the river and began casting.

"You going to join us?" Mark asked Stephanie.

"No.  I'm just going to watch the two of you from up here.  It' nice
here.  The sun is really warm."

"OK.  See you later."

Mark walked down to the river and then right into the middle of it.  He
watched Sally and made sure she was doing all right.  Then he turned 
his
attention to the river and began casting.

On his fourth cast, he saw his strike indicator jerk upstream slightly.
Immediately, he set the hook and felt the fish start to run.  Deep.
Into a pool. 

Whoa! he thought.  This is a good one.

Mark turned to Sally, "Hey!  Check it out!"

She looked up and saw that he had a fish on.  Just like that though, 
his
line went slack.

"Oh well," Mark said as he shrugged his shoulders, "Maybe next time.
You doing OK?"

"Yeah," she answered, "Wish I'd get one though."

"Me too," he said, "Don't worry, we will."

They continued casting.  Sally just stayed on the shore and cast into
the same whole over and over again.  Mark moved upstream after each
cast, covering a little more river with each step forward.  

Before they knew it, it was lunch time.  


--  o  --


"Let's head towards Soda Creek," Jack suggested after their pizza meal.

"Sure," Mark said, "That's always a good spot to fish."  He continued
south on I-5 until they arrived at the Soda Creek exit.  They drove 
down
to the river and got out.

So far, the fishing day had been successful for everyone, except Sally.
Jack caught eight fish, one of which was over 14 inches and had put up 
a
good fight.  Ben had caught three fish early on, but none after that.
And Mark landed four fish, all on dry flies.  

They all walked down to the river together.  Jack headed downstream 
with
Ben.  Mark stayed with Stephanie and Sally and they fished a hole 
behind
a large cement block.

"It's cold down here," Stephanie complained.  "Where did the sun go."

"Over there," Mark answered, pointing to a small island formed in the
middle of the river.  It was the only spot exposed to the sun and not 
in
the shadows of the mountains.  "You want to head over there?"

"How?  It's in the middle of the river?"

"Easy, I'll give you a piggy-back ride.  Besides, I'm heading over 
there
anyway.  There's a good hole right on the other side."

"Just don't drop me."

With that, Stephanie put her book back in her backpack and hopped onto
Mark's back.  He started wading across the knee deep river.  Along the
way, his right foot slipped and he lost his balance momentarily.

Ayyyyyy!  Stephanie yelled out in fear.  But Mark caught his balance 
and
kept them from both falling in.  He continued on til they were halfway
across.

"Hey, look," he said to her in a hushed town, motioning with his head 
to
look upstream.

"Look at what?" she said, irritated and just wanting to get onto the
island.

"The river, silly.  It's alive.  Check out the sun hitting it.  Look at
the insects rising and laying their eggs.  See the leaves falling.  And
there, to the right about 50 yards up.  A deer."

Amazing.  Stephanie didn't notice these things before.  The river was
alive.  The sun was lighting up half of the river and casting jagged
shadows on the remaining half.  Hundreds of insects were teeming in the
surface water, their wings sporadically reflecting sunlight and 
flashing
their location like fire flies.  Fall leaves drifted from the branches
and lay down on the water for a peaceful sleep.  A deer was sipping 
from
the water, then noticed them watching.  Stephanie made eye contact with
the deer before it darted off.  It was magical.

Her grip around Mark's neck tightened slightly until it turned into a
hug.  She now heard the water rushing past them and for the first time
understood what Mark had explained to her earlier.  About standing in
the middle of a river and how soothing it can be.  She moved her head
closer to him, and said, "Thank you for showing me that."

"No problem."

He continued across the river and finally set her down on solid ground.
She found a comfortable spot in the sun and began to read, occasionally
looking up to watch Mark fish.

Boy, she thought.  He really is cute.


--  o  --


Mark made an upstream cast and began mending the line.  It was getting 
a
little darker and more difficult to see his dry fly.  He still had a
smile on his face from the last fish he landed.  A beautiful 14 inch
rainbow that put up a big fight.

It first ran upstream, then down, then between his legs.  Then it
actually wrapped itself around a cable that was below the water.  Mark
had to take his pole and put it underwater and under the cable to
untangle the line.  He was afraid that after he did this, the fish 
would
be gone.  But it was still on the line.   Another good fishing story 
for
him to tell Jack.  

"Yeah," he would say, "Damn fish tried to lose me by making me drop my
pole as I wrapped it around under the cable.  But, no way I'm letting 
go
of this pole!"

Mark kept casting, watching for any break in the surface that would
signal a fish strike.

Splash!

He set the hook.  The fish ran up and into deeper water.

This one feels bigger than the last one, Mark thought.  His excitement
grew.  Man.  What a great fishing day.  Nine fish so far, and one on
that could be huge.

The fish was simply sitting deep in the current.  It was a stalemate at
this point.  Suddenly, it turned downstream and ran fast with the
current.  

Whizzzzzz!  Mark's reel let out line as the fish pulled downstream.  He
turned and followed where the fish was running.  In his excitement, he
forgot that he shouldn't turn his back to the river.  The current can
buckle the knees and cause him to lose balance.

Which is what happened.  Next thing Mark knew, his right leg lost its
grip on the rock below and he was in the water, getting dragged with 
the
current.

He'd seen the movie "A River Runs Through It," and did what Brad Pitt
did - he held his fly pole up high above the water to keep the fish on.
Unlike the movie however, Mark was wearing waders.  And the waders were
getting filled with water quickly.  It would be just a matter of time
before his waders got so full that he wouldn't be able to get out of 
the
water.  He would drown.

Mark started to panic a little.  He would need both hands to get up.
And he needed to act fast.  But that meant letting go of the fish, and
his fly rod. 

No way!  he thought.  This thing cost me a bundle!  And, I want to land
this damn fish!

Water was rushing over his head, chilling him.  He accidentally
swallowed a mouthful when he drifted down and hit a large rock.  

It was now or never.  About twenty feet down was a very large and deep
pool.  If Mark got carried down to that, he'd never get out of the
river.  The weight of his waders would sink him.

Stephanie heard a muffled yell.  She looked up from her text book and
saw Mark struggling in the current.

"Oh my God!"  she yelled out, "Mark!  Shit!  Sally!  Mark is drowning!
Mark is drowning!"  But Sally couldn't hear hear across the river.  And
Mark continued downstream, fly rod still held high.

Mark struggled to get solid footing.  Both feet planted.

This is it, he told himself.  I gotta do this.  My waders are already
way too full.  I'm sucking in water.  Shit.  I'm in trouble.

With all his strength, he tried to stand.  The weight of the water made
it difficult.

He struggled even more.

Finally, he was standing up right in the river.  Immediately, he ran
towards the bank and Stephanie.  He was soaked and freezing, but none 
of
this registered with him.

"Jeezz Mark!," she said to him, "Are you OK?"

"Yeah," he said excitedly, "I got a big one on."  He was just happy to
get out of the water.  

He continued to fight the fish as it swam into the pool, then down past
it.  The fish eventually pulled him downstream over 100 yards and close
to where Jack was fishing.  All the while, Mark walked downstream with
it and tried to tire out the fish.

Finally, Mark landed the fish.  It was a beauty.  At least 17 inches
long.  Big and fat.  Incredible color.

"Mark!"  Jack yelled up to him, "What happened to you?  You fall in?"

He then realized that he was soaked to the bone.  But he held up the
fish and showed Jack why he had fallen in.

"Wow!  Nice fish!"

Mark smiled and released the fish.

He was starting to shake now, the first sign of hypothermia.  He got 
out
of the water and walked up to the car.  He needed to change into dry
clothing.  But, he didn't have a change of pants and had to walk around
in wet underwear until everyone came back up to the car after sunset.

"Where's Stephanie?" asked Ben.

"Oh shit!" Mark realized.  "I left her on the island!  Hey Jack, can 
you
wade across and give her a piggy-back over?"

"Sure."  

Jack picked her up and carried her back to the shore.

"So," she asked Mark, "Did you catch him?"

"Yes!  I did.  Big fish.  Went up to here on my pole," and he showed 
her
how long it measured on his fly rod.

"Wow.  Big fish.  Hope it was worth falling into the river and almost
drowning yourself."

"It always is," he replied.

They packed up, got into the car, and began the four hour drive home.


--  o  --


Mark got home past 2 a.m. and went straight to bed.  He got to work 
late
Monday morning because he was so tired.  Work kept him busy, too busy,
for the next three days.

On Wednesday, he got a call from the Chronicle.

"Shit!" he remembered, "I forgot to cancel the ad!"

It was too late now.  The ad ran two lines past the allotted four free
lines.  Mark owed $18 for the ad that would run through Sunday.  He 
paid
with his credit card and they gave him instructions on how to pick up
his voice mail messages.  He wrote it down but had no plans on calling.
Or so he thought. 

On Friday night, he was packing for yet another trip.  While waiting 
for
his friends to pick him up, he figured he'd just check to see if anyone
was interested.  Out of curiosity.

"Hello, you have one message."

Pitiful.  A circulation of over a million and only one response.  The
Chronicle sucked.

Mark followed the instructions and pressed the proper buttons to 
receive
his message.

The voice play back began.

A woman's laughter started the message.  

"Uh," she started between giggles, "Hello, Mark.  Hi.  It's Stephanie.
I recognize your voice from your greeting.  I read your ad and knew it
must be you.  Can't believe you actually placed one of those!  Why 
don't
you call me and we can get together for coffee or tea and we can figure
out when you can show me how to fly fish or something.  Buh-bye."

Mark immediately called his friends.

"Hey," he said, "Sorry, but I can't make it this weekend.  No,
everything is all right.  I just can't go.  I'll make it up to you guys
next week.  Sorry for flaking, but something came up that I just can't
skip.  Sorry."

He didn't even unpack his gear, but went straight to his wallet, pulled
out her bent business card, and dialed Stephanie's number.

"Hello, Stephanie?  Hi.  It's Mark."

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