The Big Fish

It was huge! My knees almost buckled and my hands trembled such that I nearly dropped my spear. Trout can’t grow that big—but there it was. I watched an enormous shadow swam out from behind a submerged boulder and into the current. After a few moments it returned to the protection of the boulder. The fish was bigger than Grandfather’s thigh!

I waited for my chance, but it never swam close enough for me to spear from the riverbank. If I wanted that fish on my stringer, I would have to wade into the cold water. It would be worth the discomfort if I could contribute that monstrous fish to the spring feast. That would bring great honor. I would have many chances to warm my feet, but I might never see such a large fish again.

I waited until the fish swam into the current to feed. Then I entered the water downstream from the boulder. Icy water from the melting snow flowed over the tops of my moccasins and onto my feet. My toes began to ache, and I shivered uncontrollably. To prevent my shadow from spooking the fish, I approached the boulder with the morning sun in my eyes, but when I reached the boulder, the fish was gone. Hopefully, it was feeding in the current and would return to the boulder when it got tired.

I placed my spear above the spot where I expected the trout to be when it returned. Then I lowered the spear until the tip was just below the surface of the water. That would eliminate any splash when I pushed down on the spear. I stood motionless above the water…waiting. Grandfather says fish only see motion. I had to be invisible. I waited, but the fish didn’t return.

My teeth chattered. My legs cramped. It took all my strength to prevent the shivering from shaking my spear. Grandfather says it requires patience to spear great fish. I waited. My feet became numb from the icy cold water. I couldn’t wait much longer. Fish could tolerate cold water better than I could. I was about to give up when the dark shadow returned to its spot behind the boulder. I stared at the fish in amazement. It was the biggest fish I had ever seen.

The trout stopped just to the right of my spear tip. If I moved the spear, it would notice the motion and swim away. I waited. The fish drifted to the right and then to the left, but never swam under my spear. I waited. It would soon swim into the current in search of food, and my feet were too cold to wait for its return. It was now or never. I slowly moved the spear to the right. If I moved it slowly, perhaps the trout wouldn’t notice. The fish drifted to the left as I moved the spear tip to the right. When it was under the spear, I pushed down with all my might, pinning the fish to the riverbed.

Water splashed all around me, drenching my clothes, but I didn’t care. I reached down and grabbed my prize by the gills. It took all my strength to lift it out of the water and drag it up the riverbank. Even when I lifted its head above my knee, its tail still dragged on the ground. No one in our tribe had ever speared such a fish. I would be a hero when I dragged this fish into our village. Tonight they will be singing Chogan’s praises around the campfire. Chogan means blackbird in the Ojibway language. But tonight I would be soaring with the eagles. Not bad for a boy of ten winters.

I was bending down to attach the fish to my stringer containing the two smaller fish I had speared earlier when I heard a thrashing noise behind me. Only one animal makes that much noise walking through the woods. I turned expecting to find a bull moose. Instead, a great bear stood no more than five paces from me. It was larger than any bear I had ever seen. One front paw could cover a lily pad, and its claws were longer than Grandfather’s fingers. A large mass of muscle rose up between its shoulders. This had to be a powerful animal, and it was glaring at me like a fat coon sizing up a bullfrog it had just cornered.

The bear was no doubt hungry. I could tell from the slimy drool dripping down from its open jaws. I wanted to run as fast as I could, but Grandfather says I should never run from a bear. Bears will chase anyone who runs. The beast reared up on its hind legs and gave out such a growl that the woods shuddered with fear. When standing on its hind legs, it was taller than two grown men. The bear was so close I could feel its breath against my face. It was warm and moist and had a foul odor that reminded me of rotten meat. If I hadn’t been so scared, I would have puked on the spot.

I had no doubt the bear planned to eat me for lunch. Even then, I would be no more than a snack for such a large animal. Maybe if I offered it something else to eat, it would forget about me. Having no fish to contribute to tonight’s spring feast would bring shame to my family, but that was the lesser of the two evils. I lowered my fish to the ground and backed away. The bear walked up to the fish and gave them a sniff with its black nose. I backed further away. The bear placed a paw over the head of my prize fish and then ripped open the fish’s belly with its teeth. I continued walking backwards, until thirty paces separated us. Then I quietly slipped into the woods. I ran as fast as I could toward our village. It was probably my imagination, but I could feel the bear’s hot breath against the back of my neck as I ran. It still had the smell of decaying flesh.

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