Chapter 11
“Oh, here we go,” Hank said softly, looking over at me.
Standing knee deep in the river, with my jeans rolled up to my thighs, I put my hand on his shoulder while he deftly reeled in another catch. I looked down at the clear silvery water, at my bare feet in the bed of rocks.
What a beautiful day this was turning out to be.
Around Forked River Creek, Salmon River narrowed to a stream and Hank had found the perfect spot for fishing brown trout. We’d had some company all afternoon, a few guys and some families, but they’d all kept their distance, as we had. This spot was a few miles upstream from St-Clovis and not as frequented.
We could have had a bucket full of fish, but with Hank’s latest findings on the river’s water quality, he hadn’t let me keep any for dinner.
The sun
