Day 20: The creek shall remain nameless in this essay because there's a 14" trout waiting for me behind that big rock, I'm positive. And I know what it will take to get it out.
My fishing buddy and I spent a lot of time on this creek, but even before I met him, I'd discovered the boons the Flat Run had to offer. Oh, it's flowing pretty good now because it's autumn and we've had a lot of rain, but in summer, it's slick and smooth. You can't see fish, but flip a beadhead water-boatman just to the left of that rock and let it drift. That ol' trout will take it in a heartbeat because he thinks he's safe down there. Nobody goes down the steep embankment to the Flat Run. Except me...and Sande, in his day.
When we first met, Sande was spry and sure-footed, but as the years went by, he no longer felt safe wading over the slippery rocks in the creek. I'd station him at the Flat Run and then go half a mile upstream. "I'll scare 'em down to you," I'd tell him...and sure enough, by the time I'd worked my way down to my partner, he'd have his dinner on the stringer. The Flat Run seldom let us down. But age is more than an inconvenience, and eventually, he was forced to find easier places to fish and I...well, I didn't feel right going without him.
Sande is gone now. He passed away this last spring. Looking down at the Flat Run, my thoughts were back with him on those sunny, summery days. There's a lunker down there with his name on it, and by golly, I'm going to catch it for him next year, just for old times' sake.
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