The creek

He knows he is there. Right there in the widest part. He could be the biggest sucker in Nebraska. And, if he caught it, that would mean a sure headline and picture in the Cedar County County News.

"Have a nice day," his mom said as he left the house. "But stay out of the mud with your new tennis shoes."

He looked down at his new Converse shoes. They are almost too bright to look at in the blazing summer sun. But, he is waiting. He is challenging his boyhood.

The other guys have better poles than his. They have fancy fiberglass ones with reels and clear line. He looks at his bamboo pole and the fixed green line with a bobber about two feet above the hook and rusty nut weight. He knows how to use it. He will feel the bite if the bite comes and he will snap that pole back and set the hook. This fish will not be the one that got away.

He looks at the tall weeds and starts to move in toward the stream. He looks for stickers and neddles. He hates those itching neddles. He also looks for poision ivy. His scout training has taught him what to look for.

As he gets closer to the stream, the ground gets softer. He can feel his new shoes sinking in up to the canvas part. Soon, he can feel his socks getting wet. And then, his new tennis shoes sink into the gooey mud. He looks down at them and he knows he is going to catch it when he gets home.

A horsefly lands on his arm. He does not see it. It bites him and he drops his pole and slaps it dead. Little clouds of gnats are swiriling around his head. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the bottle of vanilla he took from the kitchen. He puts some on his fingers and wipes it in his ears. That should keep the gnats out of his ears and the buzzing sounds, too.

He is there. He crouches down and looks at the dark green water. Soon, the minnows come up and swim around right in front of him. He wonders if they are trying to tell him where he is. Is he just below them on in the deep. He must be careful here. At this wide part, the water goes clear to China. His oldest brother told him and he knows that has to be true.

He opens his small rusty tin coffee can and paws around the wet dirt to find his best night crawler. If he is going to catch him, he will have to serve up the Thanksgiving dinner of worms. He finds the one and feeds it onto the hook; his hands turn dirty and wet from the process. He gently dips his hands into the water to clean them. The minnows dart away. A perfect ring starts across the little pond just like a Tsunami going across the ocean.

He looks around for a comfortable, dry place to sit. There is a dry spot with a rock that looks perfect except someone else has found it first. He looks at the bullsnake looking at him. It is about 3 feet long and is no threat. He will let the snake keep his seat and he will take a seat on a dread tree in the other direction.

He swings his pole so the line will land right in the middle of the biggest, deepest part. The weight and hook disappear into the dark and the bobber soons sits motionless on the water. Soon, the glassy look returns. The snake has moved on. A red-winged blackbird chirps a warning. Stay away from the nest, the bird warns. He isn't sure if the warning is for him or the snake.

Then, the bobber comes to life. A ring goes across. Then another one. He can feel it in the pole. His muscles stiffen. How much strength will he need to set the hook and pull this monster out? Will he be too slimy to pick up? Will he get away? He stands up and gets ready to set the hook.

Suddeenly, he hears a car stop on the road behind him. He turns and looks as the driver gets out. His heart is in his throat.

"Buster, you better not be in the mud with those new shoes!"

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