Duke and the Salmon

My first try at some fiction. Thanks to Third Coast Fly for the inspiration.

Salmon Fishing is risky business, on second thought not risky more of a strange business kind of like what happens this afternoon. It started this afternoon when I was loading the truck to head north to fish the waters I had read about on the Third Coast Fly blog. I had everything to head up the road when my sad eyed bird dog looked up at me with sagging eyes, so I said “hop in Duke lets go”. He wagged is shortened tailed and hopped or should I say somewhat crawled up into the truck and we headed off. The drive was nice and the colors were pleasant but that stretch between Peru and South bend is a killer, boy is it boring. It started to spit rain about the time we crossed the state line but thank goodness that was short lived, I don’t think the old dog could have taken a cold wet afternoon of fishing, at 14 he needs the bright sun to keep moving when it’s cool out, I kinda do too but hate to admit it. As we approached the river I noticed that things seemed off, in the distance the sky was filling up with odd shaped clouds and although the wind was barely blowing it seemed as though the clouds were closing in quickly, it must have be some sort of illusion. We unloaded quickly, the dog ran over to the weeds and let everyone around know he was now in the neighborhood and I rigged up the 8 weight. I waded quickly out into the cool water and looked around to see what happened to be lurking nearby, once my eyes adjusted to looking beyond all of the gold and red leaves floating on the surface, I noticed the bruiser lying in between a log and the cut bank. I casted the fly gently past the salmon and let the current take it past its nose. Nothing! Again I casted just past the front of the salmon and drifted the fly this time the salmon rose to the fly and nope decide against it and settled back into its spot where I had been watching it for the last 20 minutes. One more time I told myself, I casted the fly, this time well past the salmon. Splash, “what was that”, I said out load, I turned to see a porcupine swimming right over the salmon I had been watching and casting too for 25 minutes. I watched in disbelief as the native pincushion swam right over MY fish. I am now mad, my fly is about to drift right in front of the salmon, the salmon is under the porcupine and my dog is barking from the shore at the porcupine. Then it all broke loose! I felt a tug like I have never felt before; I looked to see the porcupine swimming away with my chartreuse line stuck to the quills on its rump. Finally the line broke free of the quills and now was going in the opposite direction. What! Somehow the salmon was hooked up! I watched in disbelief as the line screamed off the reel. Yelp! Just then I turned and looked to see Duke running from the quill ejector and the porcupine ambling away from the river and into the brush, leaving Duke pawing at his muzzle. I told Duke to stay there and I would deal with him in a minute, I had a salmon to land. The battle was one that last longer than Duke would have liked, but he was a champ and lay still for the 20 minutes it took to land this salmon. I beached the salmon and as I removed the tattered fly I noticed a quill in the salmon’s “muzzle”. I removed the quill and released the salmon back into the cool water that was covered with golden colors of a Michigan’s autumn. I then turned attention to my friend of many trips to the river, Duke. He lay near my feet as I reached over and stroked his ears, I told him “Duke you and the salmon are both old, ornery companions give me a minute and I will release the quills from your lips too”.