Nightfall

Last cast. Just one more. This is it. You've said these things to yourself at least 17 times in the last half-hour. You have not caught a steelhead today, nor hooked one, nor even had a grab. But with each last cast, there is renewed hope, the feeling that somehow, this will be the one. It's getting late. Bats swoop and dive around you in the violet light, sending a shiver down your spine. You wade by feel, slipping your foot around and over the slick, bowling-ball-sized rocks. You're in the bucket now. There has to be a fish here; it's just too perfect. In the back of your mind you understand if you don't go now, you'll be rowing a long way in the dark. You make your mend, and as it swings through the sweet spot, you feel a surge of anticipation, and then, finally, it hangs below you, lifeless. It's been a long day. You're wet. You're hungry. You're exhausted. Somewhere out in the dark water, over the sound of the riffle, you hear a fish roll. Or maybe you imagined it. And suddenly it occurs to you that you are stripping more line off the reel. Last cast. Just one more....