One of our favorite family pastimes was going fishing.  Dad loved the possibility of outwitting and snagging “the big one”.  Mom was a good sport.  She loved being with my dad.  She learned the ropes – bait your hook, cast, keep your line out of the weeds, remove the fish from the hook, clean and cook trout, etc.  My brother was more enthusiastic than I, although he mostly just loved casting out and reeling in, casting out and reeling in.  For me, the adventure was the lure.  I loved the mountains and the wildlife.  Actually catching a fish was not at the top of my favorites list.  Fish were slimy and wiggly.  And smelly!

Nevertheless, the excursions were always an adventure.  Driving to our fishing destination as dawn was breaking, we often saw deer, coyotes, rabbits, skunks, bluejays.  As we hiked to a fishing spot, the world smelled green – fresh, and damp.  The picnic lunch my mother packed tasted all the more wonderful eaten in the shade of a tree listening to the birds.

As I said, my dad loved to fish.  He read about it, he talked to friends about it, he found the right lures, he watched the fishing reports to learn where they were biting.  He thought about how to find THE FISH, how to lure THE FISH, how to tempt THE FISH, and most of all, how to outwit THE FISH.  And he always caught fish, even if the rest of us failed to do so.  He was always looking for “the big one” – THE FISH.  We fished Lake John.  We fished Jefferson Lake.   We fished the Eagle River.  We fished the Blue.  When Dillon Reservoir was created, we fished there, too.  Unless we were camping, our adventures ended in the afternoon and we headed for home.

On one particular afternoon, mom, Rob and I sat waiting in the car as dusk slipped over the mountain peaks that surrounded the Dillon Reservoir.  We were done for the day.  But the fishing fever had dad in its grips.  “I’m just going down to that spot I was in for a few more minutes.  There’s a big one there.  I had him on my line, but he spit out my lure,” my dad had just finished saying and walked back down to the lake.  We waited.  And waited.  “I’m hungry,” Rob said.  Mom gave us apples.  We waited.  “Is dad ever coming?” Mom gave us cookies. A full moon rose.  We waited.

Sometime after moonrise, dad came trudging back to the car.  He was sorry for making us wait so long.  “Time just got away from me.  I could feel him playing with the lure, but he never hit it.  What a beautiful fish.  I’m sure he was a three-pounder.”  What a shame!  It’s really late!  Mom was at once disapproving and consoling.  As the fish talk continued, we set out for home.  Rob and I dozed in the back seat.  Dad talked about a next round and what he would use to catch THE FISH, what would be a better time of day to begin, whether to come on a sunny or cloudy day.

I thought about THE FISH, gliding through the dark water.  I wondered if he was smiling.