The First Fish

   The First Fish

by Molly Melnick

It was a cold December day. The air was frosty and I could see my breath. Indian River roared in my ears, mixed with the sound of fish fins slicing through the water for barely a moment before dipping back in. My dad stood a little ways from me casting his fly rod in and out, his line slicing through the air causing droplets of water to hang glimmering in the air for a moment before falling to the ground. The sky was streaked with orange and pink clouds, the sun setting in the distance. The smell of fish and crisp air hung in my nose. I could feel the cold slowly creeping up on me and I was ready to go home and eat.

“Daddy how many so far?” I asked

“About four. Five if you count the one I caught but didn’t land,” he replied.

“How are you catching so many? I have been fishing the same spots you did but none are biting!”

I was beginning to get agitated. The river was cold and I was swarmed with mosquitoes trying desperately to eat me alive. On top of that I hadn’t caught a single fish!

“Well, I got some new fly hooks and the fish seem to like them,” my dad answered calmly.

He cast out neatly, just barely missing the tree tops. He was a skilled fly-fisher though he was only a beginner.

“Do you think I could try using your fly-rod Daddy?” I asked sweetly, hoping to persuade him to let me us his precious fly-rod.

“Sure princess. Do you know how to use it?”

“Well… no.”

“Here let me show you. You put your hand here,” he guided my hand to the bottom of the rod.

  “Loop the line and pull it back. Now whip the rod back with your wrist and let the string go.” He demonstrated for me then let me try it.

“Don’t move your arm, just your wrist. Now whip it forward using the same control. You got it! Ok now repeat.” I was slowly starting to get it. I could feel myself getting into a rhythm

.

 “Watch the bush! Good! Ok let the fly float for a while now!”

My dad was a good teacher. He talked to me in a patient voice and gently guided me through the motions until I got it. He smelled like Old Spice and cinnamon and his deep rumbling voice was soothing. We had been fishing together a lot lately, me and my dad. His father had just passed away and the whole family missed him a lot. I think we both felt especially close to him when we were fishing so we liked to go out together.

 “Is this right? I think I’m doing it!” I asked, trying to distract myself from the feeling of sadness that was slowly creeping up on me.

“You’re getting it!” my dad shouted back over the roar of the river.

I sensed some sadness in that one sentence. I knew exactly what he was thinking about. I was determined to catch a fish just to take both of our minds off the pain. Suddenly I felt a tug at the end if the line.

“DAD! I THINK I HAVE ONE! HOW DO I REEL THIS THING IN?” I was shouting in joy desperately clinging on to the shaking pole.

“Pull the line back. Reel! There you go!”

I followed his instructions and felt a swell of pride as I finally landed the Dolly Varden.

“I got one! My first fish from a fly-rod!”

“I’m so proud of you sweetheart” my dad said.

“Daddy?” I asked.

“Yes?” he answered as he distractedly untangled the fish from the line and let it back into the river.

“My feet are cold.”

I was also hungry and covered in mosquito bites but I kept quiet.

“Let’s stay out for five more minutes,” he said.

“Ok.”

I felt a surge of love for my brave dad and I thought about how much I loved him and how much I would miss him if he was gone.

“Daddy?”

“Yes?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, bear.”

After fishing we hiked back to the car in silence. He held my hand warming it with his touch. I learned a lot that day. I learned how to fly fish, I learned how to cope with pain, and I learned just how much I loved my dad. I still think about that day sometimes. I remember how close I felt to my dad and how much fun we had, but most of all I remember how I learned to fly-fish because of my father’s love and patience.