A Good Fish

Jerk that bitch, urges my guide, and I give my shuddering pole a jerk, hooking the throat of the first steelhead of my life. Reel 'em, he mutters and revs the motor. I horse my pole and reel and horse. The boat's mascot whines, her claws clicking.Let it take some line. My father, uncle, and cousin are reeling.First fish! they shout, and I shout,What a fighter! A silver spine touches the air. There, he points,a hen. And guess what? She's gonna join the club, somehow spotting in that glimpse the smooth place along her back where a fin had been snipped. He leans over the gunwale, dips a net, and scoops her into the boat. She is thick with a wide band of fiery scales, slap- slapping the aluminum bottom. Welcome to the club, he says, and clobbers her once, and again, and once more before she goes still. A bleeder, he says, shaking his head and handing her to me. I curl a finger through a gill the way you're supposed to, determined not to let her slip and flop back to the river, a blunder I'd never live down. A good fist. Fish, I mean. A good fish.