Morning melee

Through a small break in the woods ahead, he caught sight of the
pier. It lay over the water like a red carpet; the path to adventure.
This morning it sprawled out above liquid glass, shattered only by the
occasional fish or bird. This pier had become somewhat mystical in the
past few summers. Not one, but two separate stories of epic battles
with monstrous rockfish, both ending in snapped lines, had reached
everyone in the community who cared. These stories played out in the
boy's mind as he neared the pier.
Emerging from the horizon, the sun had not yet thawed the frosty night
air and a stream of clouds draped across the sky seemed destined to
prolong the stay of the bitter cold. In both directions, naked
skeletons of oaks and maples, stripped of their leaves by the fall
climate, overwhelmed the shoreline. Though none of this mattered to the
boy, for he was on a mission to land one of the finned giants. Being a
weekday morning, the pier was certain to be deserted and quiet, making
the fishing conditions ideal. He propped his bike up against a fence
and ventured out onto the pier. The distinct sound of overnight rain
still falling from the trees and slapping the soaked carpet of leaves
was monotonous in the background. His actions on the pier became much
slower and more precautious, as to not spook the fish before even
having a chance to tempt them. The pier was long, with old diving board
on the end. It's wooden planks were water drenched from the nights rain
and polka dotted white by countless weak-bowelled seagulls performing
fly-bys.
The water stayed only waist high until the end of the pier, where the
bottom sloped abruptly, and it got very deep, very quickly. The
brownish, algae drenched water and the shallow conditions paired up to
create quite a dangerous duo when met by swimmers, especially ones that
did not know the area. A headfirst dive anywhere off of the pier but
the end could effortlessly steal someone's mobility for the rest of
their life.
As the boy neared the end of the wooden pier, he kept his eyes trained
on the waters calm surface, aware of any kind of splash or swirl. It
was quiet enough to hear a jumping fish for a surprising distance,
though he knew they weren't the big ones. The behemoths never jumped,
they simply lingered near the bottom waiting. He got to the end and
quietly sat down on the aged diving board, pulled a brown paper bag
from his coat pocket and emptied its contents. Inside were four
individually wrapped soft crabs and a knife to cut them with. These
were no ordinary soft crabs, these babies were jumbos, and it had cost
the boy every penny of two allowances to buy them fresh from the
seafood market. It was almost a shame to see them used as bait and not
nestled between a sub roll with some fresh lettuce and tomato. How
could anything under this pier resist these store bought freaks of
nature? He also pulled a small pack of extra hooks from his pocket,
just in case.
The soft crabs had purposefully been put in the freezer the night
before and were just now beginning to soften on the outside. This would
insure that once a cut half was hooked on and thrown in, the juices and
slop would slowly seep out of the thawing crab, instead of hitting the
top of the water on a cast and splattering all over the water's
surface, quickly engulfed in an orgy of hungry minnows. He hooked the
first half of one of the soft crabs on with skillful precision,
assuring that a smaller fish could not separate the bait and hook. Of
course, a monster would not have the patience to nibble; it would
simply inhale the treat, hook and all. Though young, the boy had
experience fishing these waters and new exactly how to present his
disguised trap. He tossed out his line from the diving board and
free-spooled extra line out as the bait gently sailed through the air.
The cast was positioned perfectly, landing directly in front of the
steep drop off. The boy watched the bait slowly disappear into the
murky waters depths as if it were a paratrooper jumping from his plane
and slowly fading into the night. The out-going tide would do the rest
by pulling the bait down the slope, flaunting it in the face of any
fish nearby. With no extra weight on the line, aside from the crab and
hook, the young fisherman's line sunk slowly. Excess line from the cast
lay limp on top of the water in a snake-like pattern waiting to be
pulled under. It slowly followed the bait under, leaving small ripples
in the water around the area in which it was being engulfed. This
excess line that lay limp on the waters surface held the key to his
success. Its movements would hint at what was going on at the other end
of his line. Different lines movements meant different things to the
young, but well-learned fisherman. If the line were to begin making
small, rapid jerks on its way to the bottom, it meant that something
was nibbling on the bait. In most cases the nibbling fish was too small
to eat the large hunk of crab. Instead, he wanted to see the line
twitch once and begin moving in some direction faster and more
forcefully than before. This was a telltale sign that something had
inhaled the treat and continued on its way, unworried about the
consequences. The biggest fish never nibbled. They would much rather
swallow the bait and the nibbler.
Time passed, and his attention to the line diminished. His sight
ventured from the water and caught an osprey balanced gallantly on the
top of a nearby piling. The piling stood alone, away from the pier. Yet
the bird poised on it's peak somehow commanded respect for the both of
them. The two stood strong alone, as one. He was mesmerized by the
bird's presence. The osprey's talons draped over the front edge of the
piling and its black eyes beamed lifelessness. A frightening chill
tickled the boy's spine as the large bird cocked its head from one side
to the other. He realized that he was not alone. There were two
fishermen on the end of this pier, one putting his faith in technology,
the other blessed with raw instinct and skill. The two continued to
fish in silence, unable to swap stories of former duels with a common
adversary. With little more than a ruffle of the air around it, the
osprey swooped from its perch and gained altitude over the water. As
soon as it had doubled its height, the bird began to descend toward the
water. It resembled a plane coming in for a landing, except that it was
picking up speed. It was not landing, but hunting. The winged predator
injected its clawed feet into the water and abducted a decent sized
menhaden. The remaining school of small fish scattered, jumping and
splashing and diving out of harms way. The osprey circled back and
landed on a piling near the pier, but farther than the previous one. It
pinned the flipping fish to the top of the piling and stared at the boy
for a moment. By this time, the boy's wonder had gotten the best of him
and he had stuffed the butt end of his rod into a hole in the pier, in
order to watch the bird. Whenever he stuck the fishing rod into this
makeshift holster on the pier, he made sure to set the drag on the reel
so that only slight pressure would pull more line from the reel. In
case he was not paying attention, this made it impossible for a trophy
fish to snap the light line before he could get to it. Or worse yet,
yank his only rod into the river.
After the bird's show he walked along the edges of the pier and gazed
down at each piling to see if any crabs were clinging to them,
occasionally looking over his shoulder at his rod. He bent over the
side of the pier to check a hidden piling for any signs of life. Just
as he did, a familiar buzz filled his ears. It was the lightly set drag
on his reel being stripped of line. He sprinted across the pier and
plucked his rod from the hole in the pier. He pulled it from the hole
in the pier carefully so that whatever was teasing with the bait would
not notice.
In the past, he had learned not to tighten the drag and set the hook
until the fish had time to swallow the bait. Although this did hook
more fish, it also increased the chance of a fatal wound in the stomach
or throat. If the fish wasn't massive, he wanted to let it go.
He let the fish mouth the crab for a few seconds before tightening his
drag and yanking the rod up to set the hook. The rod bowed like a
hurricane blown palm tree as the startled fish swam hard from this new
pain. The fish continued in a straight line away from the pier, pulling
line out at will. The boy applied as much pressure as possible, without
risking snapping the line. After stripping nearly half of his line from
the reel, the fish turned and headed parallel to his position. It had
made its first run for freedom and had failed. There would probably not
be another as strong. Suddenly the line went slack. His heart slid into
his stomach fearing the worst. Then he noticed the loose line on the
surface being pulled disappearing underwater. The boy furiously reeled
in the loose line. He knew what was happening. The fish had turned and
was heading directly for the pier on which he was standing. Once under
the pier, it would take a miracle to pull the scrapper away from the
numerous barnacle encrusted pilings. He reeled in at break-neck speed
in hopes of getting to the fish before it could get to the pier. No
luck. The line tightened and his rod bent under the pier. He dropped to
his belly and shoved the rod under the pier, trying to figure out where
the fish had gone. Just as he did this, a figure caught the corner of
his eye. It was his fish and it was swimming away from the pier. From
his position, gazing at the fishes back, the ogre looked to be at least
the size of his younger brother. With the sighting of this massive
creature, the boys grip on the rod tightened as if it were to be ripped
from his hand. It quickly distanced itself but the arced rod continued
to point to the underside of the pier. The fish had gone underneath the
pier and come back out on the other side of a piling, making it
impossible for him to continue fighting the fish. The abrasive piling
would surely cut his line in the process. He watched as his hopes of
catching the trophy were scraped around the inside of the piling until
he could not take. With little hesitation, he dropped down into the
frigid water and pushed the rod tip to the other side of the piling so
that the line would not be dragging across its rough surface. His chest
submerged and the coldness left him gasping for breaths. Using his free
arm, he managed his way underneath the pier until the rod and he were
free of the obstacle. Wielding the rod high in the air to keep it from
tangling on anything, the boy made his way to a small ladder near the
diving board and climbed out of the hellish water. The unremitting
rockfish continued to drag line from his reel but at a slower pace than
before. It was getting tired. Carefully, he maneuvered himself closer
to the shore, where the water was shallower. Once he got the fish out
of the deeper water, it would be unable to dive deep and pull gobs of
line from his reel. The taught line slowly moved into the shallow water
and headed toward shore. He could make out a dark figure at the end of
his line, though it was still some distance from him. It moved slow and
resembled the shadow made by an overhead plane on the waters surface.
As the beast flapped its tail, a plume of disturbed water would appear
behind the darkened mass. By this time, no line was being pulled from
his reel, though none was being gained either. The fish was its sheer
weight to counter his attempts in getting it closer. The boy directed
his rod tip in the opposite direction that the fish was heading. With
the bucket-sized head turned in the direction of the pier, it would be
much easier to direct the fish towards him. Slowly its head turned in
his direction and, with this, he began gaining precious line. As the
massive fish neared the pier, it put up almost no additional
resistance. Its tail fanned back and forth, just enough to keep the
thick body upright in the water.
It neared and the boy could see it more clearly. A broad, browned back
faded to white on each side. Six or seven black stripes ran down both
sides of the fish, beginning behind its gills and continuing to the
shovel sized tail. It's calmness in the water nearly made him forget
the shenanigans he had gone through to get the fish to this point. He
pulled the heavyweight to within an arms length of the pier and
crouched down to grab the fish.
Without warning, the water in front of him exploded, littering his
head and arms with another dose of the frigid water. His rod surged
forward for a moment and popped straight before he could wipe the salty
water from his eyes. There was no longer pressure on the line. It had
snapped. He scanned the shallow water for the dark figure, but saw
nothing. A loud splash from behind him followed. He turned to see the
osprey at water level flapping its wings furiously. Its legs were in
the water as if it were holding onto something. He looked closer and
noticed the large silhouette under the bird. The tired rockfish had
made one last surge to break the boys line and had swum out on the
other side of the pier. Taking advantage of the situation, the osprey
had flown in to grab exhausted fish. The bird struggled, but could not
lift the fish. In a splash similar to the one that had fostered an
escape from the boys clutches, the powerful fish headed for deeper,
safer water. Its relentless challenger held on desperately, but
released its grip when the fish had pulled it halfway underwater. The
disoriented bird gathered itself in the air and flew towards sky.
On the pier, the boy stood stunned by what he had just witnessed.
Somehow, knowing that he was not the only fisherman to be beat by the
fish made him feel less upset about his defeat. The biggest fish he had
ever encountered had just made the most miraculous escape imaginable.
It had survived their hooks and claws and would live to grow even
bigger.
His mood calmed and he realized just how cold he was. Numbness had
entered his hands and feet and the dripping wet clothes made every step
miserable. He gathered the rest of the bait and hooks and started home.
Across the river, an osprey drifted across the windless sky and
disappeared behind a thick horizon of pine trees.