Slim Randles'  Home Country

[August 02, 2008]  It was a silent thing there at first. It was the calm mornings that did it. Each of us became quieter when having breakfast at the Mule Barn truck stop. We'd look at each other and smile and wish each other well without having to say anything. It was a summer thing.

Each of us had our own jobs, which ranged from Dewey's transferring manure from the dairy to people's yards, through Bert's obsession with weeding his yard, to Doc's trying to keep us healthy. Herb Collins came in that morning. Herb is a businessman, not too excited about sports, but keen on being one of the guys. He also claims to be borderline psychic. We always thought he was a little strange on that account.

Until that summer morning.

"Politics going along fine, are they?" Herb asked the quiet philosophy counter.

Guys nodded and murmured.

"Somebody sick?"

Heads shook, still with the faraway look in the eyes.

"It's the Lunker, isn't it?" Herb asked.

All heads perked up, and we looked at each other with that sudden recognition. Yes, it was the Lunker, that giant trout down in his pool in Lewis Creek.

Doc was the first to recognize that Herb was right. "What do you think, guys ... tomorrow morning?"

"I'll bring coffee," said Dud.

"I'm going to catch him," Dewey said.

"No worms, Dewey. Barbless flies only."

Dewey nodded.

"I'm going to try a new fly," Dud said. "Tied some up after I saw them in the magazine. Supposed to be deadly on trout."

"I'm glad you're going, Dud," Doc said. "I'll need a witness when I pull him in."

The Lunker rose close to a couple of the flies the next day, and some smaller trout fell for them and were quickly released. The Lunker is still under that big pile of rocks on the bottom of Lewis Creek.

And that's not a bad thing. Dreams are good.

[Text from file received from Slim Randles]

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