I watched the Mylar strips dance through the clear water in the low autumn light. It cruised toward the surface, tempting anything in the depths to come up and eat. “Reset,” I whispered. Jason flicked the rod and shot the fly back to the far side of the pool. The fly slapped the water, sinking fast. A shadow of scales and muscle rocketed from the deep water, crushing. Coho. Jason set the hook like he was trying to start an old mower. The surface erupted in a flash of silver. The reel howled as the buck ran up and down the river, circling the raft and bringing chaos with him. Jason worked the fish away from the anchor line while I tried my best to keep the oars out of the way.

A few lawless minutes later, I dipped the net underneath. High fives. I snapped a photo of Jason with his first bright coho, a broad grin plastered to his face.

 Our journey to find this fish had been long…

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