A good day's catch and a curious noise

Standing on top of the small hill, Timmy over looked the steadily moving water of the river he had fished every season since he could remember. To his left was fenced in swamp; he never understood why someone would fence in a swamp near a river. In front of him, down the hill was a small red bridge that spanned the short distance across the river. From that bridge was a worn dirt path that led into thick woods. Those woods extended several feet from the water’s edge along the path of the river. Timmy would be taking that path to his favorite fishing spot.

Before crossing the bridge, Timmy stopped, as he always did, and squatted down beside the river to take a drink of its cool, clear, reddish water. Cupping his hands together, just like his dad taught him, Timmy scooped up some cold water, and sipped from it as he watched some spider bugs dance across the top of the flowing stream. Once Timmy tried to catch a couple of them, but failed, and his failure ended him a long walk home in wet clothes.

Stopping at the top of the bridge, Timmy leaned over the rail, and looked at his reflection in the moving water. There were some minos swimming around in the shadow of the red bridge, along with a couple small Brook trout. This was a perfect day for fishing. Tim coughed once, then tried to call up some spit, hacking several times, then finally, swishing the flem around preparing for its launch into the water. It was a good spit, and went pretty far down the stream, but Timmy had spit better ones, and he was sure he would have better ones still to come.

Crossing the bridge, and walking along the tree line, trying to avoid the real muddy parts of the bank; his mom hated muddy boots and pant legs. In a matter of minutes Timmy was sitting on a familiar bank, pulling his fisherman’s tie tight to a hook. No matter how sunny it was, it was always darker here, which was perfect for fishing. Snaking a helpless worm along the length of his sharp hook, Timmy readied himself for his first cast.

Cast…splash! Timmy reeled in slowly, and set the line, holding it loosely under his pointer finger so he could feel the slightest hit by a hungry Brookie, Brown, or Rainbow.

Tim waited. Just as he was about to reel in for another cast, the line on his finger twitched! Fighting the initial desire to jerk his rod and set the hook, Timmy slowly let out more line…let him take it and enjoy it for a moment, Timmy thought. Mentally he pickered this big trout rolling its eyes in enjoyment as it savored the worm in its mouth. Jerk! Timmy set the hook, and began to fight with the fish! Before long, Timmy had landed a good size Brown Trout.

Pulling the hook from the fish’s mouth wasn’t easy, but it wasn’t that hard either. Timmy held the fish up to his face and asked him what he asked every fish (just like his dad did), “Do you want to go back?” No fish had ever said it did. Timmy snapped it’s head back, and then cleaned the fish, letting its innards float down the stream for some lucky raccoon to pick up as a snack. Then he put the fish in his creel, and went about casting for the next lunker.

After several more keepers had been caught, began to gather his things, knowing he was going to need some extra time to get home and fry them up for supper tonight. A snap of a branch caught Timmy’s attention. Timmy was used to hearing lots of noises while fishing, but for some reason this one caused him to pay attention. There it was again. Now, Timmy wasn’t scared, but he certainly became curious. Rumors of bear being in the area were highly debated by the men down at the local restaurant, and Timmy hoped they were true. Maybe he would see one.
He set off to find out.