Chapter 35: FishingWhen the sun began to go down, the air cooled off and shadows fell on the trees and water. Sprayed liberally with mosquito repellent, Noah and I sat on the rocks at the far end of the river bend, holding fishing poles, waiting for bites, our lines thrown into the deep part of the pool at the base of the small bluff.
Jackson tended to the fire, wandered around the campsite collecting dried wood and fallen branches, making an orderly pile.
The radio was playing KUDZU. Jackson changed the channel and the Bee Gees floated our way, explaining that nobody gets “Too Much Heaven.” I was just about to complain when Noah grunted and pulled on his pole.
“Hah!” he exclaimed, glancing over his shoulder at me, beaming.
I hurried over to him, made the sign for “nice and easy,” watc
