mum's the word
Mum’s the Word
The wind blew across the open vegetable field carrying with it the chill of the frosty morn. I wrapped my white scarf around my dry lips and topped my head with an orange cap in case there were hunters about the forest on this Saturdays fishing excursion.
Reaching the trail, which leads down to the creek bottom, the rising wind, from the valley, ascended upwards through the bare branched trees. As I continued my descent I listened to the thick tree branches scraping one another sounding like a squeaky hinge on a swinging gate with each gust of wind. Bare branches rattled and an occasional nut would fall upon a hollow log thumping hard enough I’d turn towards the sound in an instinctive reaction. I needn’t a light in the morning darkness as the last of the early morning moon shed enough, in between the passing gray overhead clouds, to help find my way down the damp dirt trail. Eerie shadows of objects would be cast, waver and disappear upon my surroundings from the appearing and than cloud covering of the full moon.
As I reached creek level, still some 20 yards away, the heavy morning dew beaded on my white linen fabric covering and fishing vest. I felt the chilled wetness upon my bare fingers and the smell of moist fungi within my nostrils. I happen to look down and saw a rustle, with gray and black fur, in the fallen leaves as if two small animals were wildly fighting among themselves. Moon beams shot through the forest trees just then and I noticed a fresh blood trail. I looked around almost if expecting something to jump out at me at any second. I followed the blood trail to a sawed off stump. A decapitated gray squirrel lay upon its surface in a small pool of blood. The neckline was severed cleanly as if carefully sliced with a very sharp knife. Peculiar I thought as I turned toward the sound of the moving water.
By now the sky brightened some above me and the gray eerie clouds were more pronounced and determined to keep the morn low lit and gloomy. The moisture in the low lying area made it hazy so seeing through it was somewhat limited. The water was a bit tainted but transparent enough to see bottom or at least darker shadows beneath. It ran lower than I would have liked but I figured by now the steelhead should have reached this far up and if so even further. I was sure that as the morning and brightness progressed more fishermen would arrive and make their way along the creek. I decided to cross the creek and head down stream further before the crowds.
I crossed the shallow riffling water and found interesting boot tracks in the mud on the far shore. Narrow boot prints were pointed sharply in the toe section. ‘Strange’ I thought, for I never seen a pair of wading boots like that, I could recall. I also noticed, whoever it was, was yielding a round wading staff by the oval holes that penetrated the soft earth along their boot tracks.
Below the shallows I tied on a white bugger and waded downstream, while fishing. I came across dark shadows of steelhead holding tight to the bank-side shrubbery or holding still in deeper sections. None wanted anything to do with my bugger and I found a few swam away when my offering swung towards them.
Around the third bend I came to the beginning of a long stretch of semi-deep water that I was sure held fish. At the end of the pool a fishing person stood casting a wimpy looking bamboo stick. She wore a tall pointed hat that would crinkle slightly in the middle when a gust of wind would blow against it. Her long black coat reached down to the water as she stood ankle deep. I noticed a small burlap looking sack against a downed tree trunk on land behind her. A broom handle, minus the straw that makes up the broom, was stuck in the dirt along side. A black cat lay upon the trunk but didn’t seem to notice my upstream presence.
I tied on an orange/white/yellow candy corn looking sucker spawn. I spaced out a couple of lead shot and attached a pumpkin colored indicator about a foot and a half above the spawn. I cast the rig upstream and watched as it drifted before me and than downstream. At the end of the drift I started to lift up the indicator when I felt resistance. I quickly set the hook hard and just as quick my rod flexed downward and line stripped out of my clicking reel.
“Fish on’ I mumbled through my white cloth scarf as the fish headed downstream. I caught a glimpse of the woman looking my way and then swinging her line out of the water. I heard the cat hiss each time the steelhead broke water. I fought the fish towards me and brought it to the shoreline. The fat steelhead calmed down and I stooped before it and unhooked the candy corn sucker spawn.
I could almost feel the gaze of the woman. After releasing the fish I stood up and looked her way. She turned her face away quickly as I heard her sigh as if in disgust. I didn’t think much of it and continued my fishing.
After I caught and released another steelhead I again felt her leering stare. I looked up towards her and again she turned away as if disgusted.
“Maybe she wanted a steelhead†I thought. She wasn’t obviously catching anything with her wimpy rod and whatever she was using for bait. I began to notice that she tried to inconspicuously slide her way upstream towards the area I was hooking fish.
On my third hook up the long male steelhead cleared water on the hook set. I needn’t call out ’fish on’ as the big steel belly flopped back into the water. The woman brought her line in and stepped back out of the water as I fought the fish downstream. I got the dark male to the shoreline and bent over to unhook him.
“You want this one?†I asked in a mumble
“Sure’d be nice†she answered in a high pitched squeaky voice.
I unhooked the fish and laid it upon shore at the tips of her pointed boots. I stood and looked her in the eyes as she stared back at me. Her hazel eyes had a glow to them that sent a shiver down my spine. She was fair complexion with a cupid bow upper lip. If it wasn’t for the extruding mole on her left nostril of her long nose she would have been a real cute girl.
Just before she bent down to pick up the fish a breeze blew and opened the long black wool coat she was wearing. She had on a deep purple angora sweater that was tucked in beneath a big silver belt buckle. Upon rising she thanked me as she clutched the fish in her black fingerless thin skin leathery gloves. I nodded and with that she turned and walked towards the log.
I walked back to where I was catching fish and after casting upstream turned and watched her. Holding the fish on the log with one hand she reached under her coat with the other and produced a long thin bladed knife. She delicately filleted the male steelhead as the black cat looked on. After laying the fillets aside she took from her coat pocket a thin white sheet of cloth and wrapped the fillets. She broke down the bamboo stick and placed it into the burlap sack with the wrapped fish.
I watched as the black cat followed her down the shoreline to a shallow section of water. She reached down and took the cat by the nape and after lifting it up it stepped onto her shoulder. With the broom handle, for support, she carefully made her way across the choppy water to the far bank. Her black coat silhouette disappeared within the forest.
I fished another hour or so without a bite. The morning was warming and I was feeling the heat beneath my layers of wrapped cloth. I decided to call it quits before the crowds made it this far and took to the forest and found my way to the dirt trail that lead to the vegetable field.
At the tree line I took off my hip boots and put them in the saddle bag. I put my fishing vest, cap and reel in the other. I broke down the two piece fiberglass rod and slipped it into scabbard. I unhitched the tether and swung upon the black stallion. I looked once more down the creek valley and saw a thin layer of charcoal gray smoke rise above the tree tops. The scent of smoked fish along with the aroma of game and fresh vegetables being stewed filled my sense of smell. The Andalusia horse whinnied as I nudged him to a trot along the vegetable field. Upon noticing fishermen along the road I heeled the horses side just enough to start him moving faster in a familiar gallop. White strands of loose wrapped cloth wavered with the wind behind me as we made our way across the field and towards the cemetery in a distant hollow.
I was glad that Hessian Trooper I met in the sleepy hollow lent me his horse.
Trick or treat and Happy Halloween
_________________~doubletaper
post edited by doubletaper - 2010/11/01 06:49:30