“Fish on!”
His rod doubled over as the rainbow tore line off the reel right down to the backing. The guide was rowing the boat around, yelling at Alex to keep the rod up, “Use the rod, use the rod. You got something serious on that line. HOLD IT UP.”
Alex did as he was told. When the fish slowed, he reeled in, the hook pricking the trout, driving it to run again. “ROD UP!” “ I got it, I got it,” yelled back Alex from the front of the little drift boat. “Rod UP! I hear you! Rod up.”
The guide spit a stream of tobacco juice into the water and shifted the boat onto a rocky sandbar in the middle of the river. “Easy on the reel. If he runs let ‘em go. He’ll tire out. Whoa, see that flash? He’s gotta be 26 inches. That’s not much less than the record for this river.”
“What’s the record?”
“32 inches.”
“Six inches is a huge difference!”
“That’s what most guys like to believe. 26 is big enough to satisfy this guide.”
It was a back and forth tussle with the fish and after a dozen fight already, Alex’s arm felt tired; a good tired, a tired from doing a man’s job, catching fish with a guide out in Montana, with his best friend fishing off the back of the boat. When he’d brought the fish to the boat, Hank, the guide told him to get out, wet his hands, and get ready for an awesome picture. “Man, he’s heavy!” said a smiling Alex.
“You got him? Hold him out over the water. If he jumps I want him to land at home. Hold him way out, like that. Yeah, this will look like a monster! Well done. Perfect.”
The guide snapped several shots with Alex’s phone and instructed Alex to put the fish in the water and sway him back and forth until it revived. “I know, I know, I’ve been doing it all day. I’m almost an expert at it.”
“Just want to make sure. When you come back he’ll have added those eight inches. He’ll be a trophy.”
“You said six inches, no?”
“Yeah, but like I said, most guys exaggerate. Call it a fish story.” He held his hands out facing each other and moved them inch by inch wider.
“You have any bars?” It was Max, Alex’s college pal, best friend, his kids’ guardian, God forbid, in the event.
The guide, Hank, rummaged around in the cooler that served as his seat and held up a plastic bag. “I got Power Bars, cookies, maybe some Snickers. Couple of Zagnuts I think. Chips. “ Alex grabbed an oatmeal, raisin, and walnut Clif bar and an apple. And a banana. “Don’t go crazy Ahab. We’ll be stopping for lunch soon. Got roast beef, turkey, and you, Alex, wanted veggies, right? There’s hummus, red peppers, sprouts, the works. No one starves with me. Here, Max, you asked for them.”
Max’s hand was covering something in his other hand. His eyebrows were taut as he squinted with concern. “Max, you okay? Seasick?” asked Hank. “You want a bar or something?”
“Yes, please. I can’t get any. I had a signal a while back, but nothing here.” Max was fingering his cellphone, playing with the settings for some connection. He looked up, a pained look on his face, and admitted he was trying to send a message.
“No sir, that’s right. You won’t get a signal out here. That’s a good thing,” said Hank. “It’s why we’re out in the great beyond! Freedom from all that binds you.”
“Isn’t the great beyond about what’s after death? It was in that REM song,” said Alex.
“I need to send a message,” whined Max again. “Hank, when do you think we’ll be in a better location.”
Hank shook his head and put on a sympathetic smile. “There is no location better than this. Look around you.” Hank’s hand swung around to take in the mountains, sagebrush, and a herd of elk. “Maybe at the Lodge later today. They have Wi-Fi. But enjoy what we have.”
Alex mentioned that it was the Sunday of a three-day weekend and chances were whomever he was sending the message to wouldn’t get it anyway. “C’mon Maximilliano, learn to relax. Who’s so important it can’t wait?”
Max held his cell phone up in an attempt to get a better chance at some connection, squinting in apparent pain into the big blue skies of Montana and damning the Rocky Mountains for blocking a signal. “I got a negative feedback report on eBay,” said Max. “I can’t have that. It’ll ruin my reputation. I make a lot of money on eBay.”
Alex rolled his eyes when Hank looked over. Hank just smiled as if to say, I get all kinds on the river, but Alex didn’t share his western patience. “Max, you’re reputation is deteriorating before my eyes. Look at the river for god’s sake. There’s a hatch on! Fish, dammit, fish.”
Hank turned about to see what appeared to be a blizzard as thousands, maybe tens of thousands, of caddis came out of the water chased by a score of trout. The fish, big ones, jumped out of the water, some close enough to splash water in the boat. Hank pulled two rods out of the holders. Alex grabbed one and cast. Hank had to force it into Max’s hands. “This will take your mind off of eBay,” he said. Max waded into the river and cast. A rainbow rose like a missile straight up and took the fly in its leap as another rainbow, larger still, jumped over it. The two reeled in a pair of trout, a good 20 inches each, and continued until the hatch subsided. They’d caught six between them in the space of 30 minutes.
Hank ushered them back into the boat, saying they’d go for another 30 minutes and have lunch at a spot they could find teepee circles and a closer view of the mountains. “You think it’ll have bars?” asked Max. “Bars Max? A saloon is more likely. But I’d say the odds of either are kind of low; we’ll be right up against the range. You’ll love it. And you’ll get more fish. That I’d bet on.”
Hank oared the drift boat to a steep bank and suggested his client duo walk onto the flat plains and look around for those teepee circles. “Keep an eye on the ground. You might find an arrowhead. And stomp your feet. It’ll scare the rattlers away. Seriously. Max, did you get that?”
Max stopped typing into his phone and looked up. “Sorry, Hank. No bars. Were you saying something?” Alex kicked Max in the seat of his waders, which given their weight and constriction was at best a modest encouragement. “C’mon. There’s teepee circles up there.”
“What are teepee circles?”
“Umm. You know, circles. Made by teepees I guess. Hank, what are teepee circles?”
“The Indians put up their teepees just over that bank. Used rocks to hold down the sides and left them. The rocks I mean. When you find a circle you find where they were.”
“Ah,” said Alex. “Like old foundations back east. Cool. I should have brought my metal detector!”
“Rocks, Alex,” said Hank. “I don’t think a detector picks up rocks. Look around, though. Arrowheads and such. Like there.” He pointed to Max’s feet and, sure enough, a small white arrowhead was there on the ground. Max took a picture with his camera. Alex pocketed it.
“If I had bars I could send this to Sheila,” said Max.
“If I had bars I’d flatten you!” said Alex. “C’mon.”
“I’m just trying to look at my messages,” said Max, as he held the phone in one hand and struggled up the embankment with the other.
They encountered no rattlesnakes but found the circles, a dozen of them clearly laid out on the flat grass that separated the river from the start of the mountain cliffs maybe a mile away. A screech came from overhead and Alex looked up and heard Hank shout “bald eagle” from the beach. He also yelled that lunch was ready. Alex continued to look up as the eagle swooped low to the river and grabbed a fish in its talons. “Whoa, Max! Did you see that?”
“See what?” he replied looking up.
“That group of naked girls! Just over there, you blithering idiot.”
“Girls? What are you talking about?”
“Lunch. Let’s eat.”
The eagle had taken its catch to a huge next in a grove of cottonwoods across the river. Hank chewed on tobacco and in between expectorations commented on just how lucky he was, how lucky they were, to be out here. Alex readily agreed as he lay back on the sandy beach and closed his eyes. Max munched on Alex’s sandwich –hummus, sprouts, and red pepper with tahini — which he held with his one free hand, the other moving the phone around.
“Max, you might want to put that thing away. It’ll be a while before it’ll get anything. Drink in this beauty,” said Hank. Alex listened and was impressed with Hank’s patience. It was the sort of patience that made him a good guide with clients, he figured, especially clients whose minds were elsewhere. He grabbed his sandwich from Max’s hand while Max clutched the phone to his chest.
“Hank, out of curiosity, so if we don’t have cell coverage, what do you do if we have an accident or something?” The question was from Alex.
“Well, I’m an EMT and have some stuff on board. Epipen, defibrillator, decent first aid kit. We’re trained for emergencies. And there’s the satellite phone if we have to call in the cavalry.”
Max perked up. “Satellite phone! Does that get….”
“Sorry, Max. No. Only connects to the search and rescue fellows. For emergencies. And I only had to use it once, thank God.”
“What for?” asked Max.
“Had a client who got a bad review on eBay and was so upset his fishing buddy tried to kill him,” said Alex. Hank smirked, trying to hold in a sustainable laugh.
“Max, what exactly did you sell that got you in hot water?”
Max tried to ignore the question, but when Alex pressed, Hank asked as well. “Nothing really,” mumbled Max, arousing their interest that much further. They wouldn’t let it go and Max gave in. “An iPhone.”
“You are kidding,” said Alex.
“It was a 7. I wanted the better camera on the 11.”
“So what’s the problem?” Hank was curious.
“Nothing.”
“Must be something.”
“He claims it doesn’t get internet.”
The swig of iced-tea Hank was in the middle of swallowing was shoved up by a gush of air as he guffawed and ran out his nose. Alex’s mouth fell wide open as he shook his head slowly back and forth. “There must be some form of justice in that,” he said.
“It worked fine. I think it’s his carrier. Has to be. I have Verizon and it’s fine. Maybe he’s just in a bad zone. Alex, you have ATT, check your…..”
“Not on your life, buddy boy. Not a chance.”
They got back into the boat and drifted downriver. There were grasshoppers around the bushes off the banks that presented a big meal for these hungry fish. They were aggressive about it, too, splashing down on the hoppers and returning for more. Alex, the better caster of the two, was able to land his hopper within a couple of feet of the shore and, bang, hooked three before Max got his line in the water. It was a hat trick: a fat brown, long rainbow and a nice brookie with orange spots on its side. Max finally wrestled a good-sized rainbow to the boat and seemed, a last, focused on the achievement.
“Twenty-three inches Max! Nice, nice, nice. Want a photo?”
“Sure,” said Max.
“Okay. Wet your hands and hold her up from the net. Over the water. Same drill as Alex.”
“Why wet my hands?”
“Trout have this mucus covering over their skin. It protects them from fungus, infection and I think makes them slicker in the water. Easier to swim. If your hands are dry the mucus might come off.”
Max gave a hand a deep soaking, dipping it again and again into the clear water. He held up the trout in front of him and smiled into the camera.
“Nice! It looks huge. Look at that hump.”
Max smiled again and Hank offered, “Kind of takes your mind off your cellphone, doesn’t it?”
The smile disappeared, replaced by more furrowed eyebrows and a worried look. “Did you hear that?” Hank and Alex shook their heads, but Max dug into his pocket, fumbled the phone into his wet and slimy hands, and with a leap that would have made a feeding trout proud launched it into the Yellowstone River.
He had one leg over the side when Hank yanked on the suspender that held up his waders and pulled him back in. “Stay in the boat!” He grunted as he rowed in backward with his left oar, forward with his right, to turn the boat over the spot where the phone presumably lay.
“It’s there. Can you see it?” pleaded Max.
Hank let the anchor drop from the stern, holding them in the current, and peered over the side. “It could be here, or the current could have taken it downstream a few feet. Guys, look down.”
They looked over the port side, tipping the boat enough to get Hank yelling, “Idiots! Keep balanced! Max, you take that side. Alex, the right.”
“Anything?” asked Hank.
“No, just rocks,” said Alex. “Some look like phones, though.”
“Not funny,” said Hank.
Max had his hands over his eyebrows, silent and worried.
“It was in a case, right?” said Hank. “Was that an Otterbox? It’ll be waterproof.”
Max retreated to his seat, looking forlorn. “It was sort of an Otterbox.”
“Sort of?” asked Alex.
“Well, it was a Chinese version. From eBay. I paid seven dollars for it. Including shipping.”
“China?” said, Alex. It wasn’t a question so much as a statement.
“Seven bucks,” said Hank. That, too, was a statement.
“The seller said I could return it so it must be okay,” said Max with a less-than-confident tone. “They had an okay rating. Ninety-five percent, I think. I’m almost sure they said it floats.” They looked downstream over the rushing water.
“If it does, it’s gone,” said Alex, tsk-tsking in the process.
“Maybe someone will find it?” whimpered Max.
“I kind of saw it sink,” said Hank. “Pretty sure in fact.”
“Did you have your name on it? ID?” asked Alex.
“I was going to put it on,” said Max, then, “Call it!”
“What?” came from Alex.
“Call it! If it’s here, it’ll ring! We can get it with the net!”
“I don’t think you’ll hear it through the water, pal,” came back from Alex.
“It’ll light up!” brightened Max. “We’ll see it go on!”
Alex indulged Max, while Hank leaned forward, hands on knees.
“Uhh uhh, no signal, Max,” said Alex.
“Figured,” said Hank.
“Wait!” said Max. “Call the emergency guys! They can call the phone and…” And before he could finish he whispered, “no signal.”
They fished for the rest of the afternoon, landing at the lodge near dinnertime. They caught a dozen, including one by Max, a brown that weighed six pounds if it weighed an ounce. The photo shows a depressed late middle-aged man, mouth sagging, with a fish that could have made the cover of a magazine.
While Alex helped Hank tied up the boat and grab the gear, Max ran up to the lodge to use their computer. Moments later he came back running like a duck in his one-size-fits-all waders with a grin you could see for a mile.
“Good news?” asked Hank.
Max stood still, catching his breath, and came out with it. “All well, all well!”
“Someone found your phone?” asked a dubious Alex.
“Better than that!” said Max. “The buyer wrote to me. He was in a bad reception zone! He has ATT and says it works fine after all. He retracted the bad feedback!!”
If Alex’s waders had fit any better, he might have caught up with a fleeing Max who couldn’t understand why Alex was chasing him with the net.