What's The Catch

by dcat8888

Many men go fishing all of their lives without knowing that it is not fish they are after.

What's The Catch?

by dcat

I don't own the characters of Hardcastle and McCormick.

This is a first person account (from both viewpoints…I'm not sure why I like to do the first person account, but I guess I really like to try to get inside their heads to show what they're thinking) I like to think of this as what may have been a prequel to the episode "The Long Ago Girl" (even though the timing sequence is off slightly, I have them going up the day prior to when the actual episode begins. And I'm not an expert in fishing, I did do a little research so I hope it all sounds plausible.

The Thoreau quote below got me to thinking…..

OOOOO

"Many men go fishing all of their lives without knowing that it is not fish they are after." Henry David Thoreau

OOOOO

From the moment I suggested a fishing trip to him, he was non-stop chatter, asking all sorts of questions guaranteed to drive any sane person crazy. His first one being the obvious, 'what was the catch,' for which he paused, got that cunning smile on his face that always told me there was some thought put into the comment, and he added, "no pun intended, but you don't just take a vacation Judge, the way I have it figured, you must have a bone to pick with a trout about something. Is someone filleting out of season?" I couldn't help but smile at that one. He was pretty sharp. I said something about there not being that sort of catch, we would leave the files, cases and distractions here at home, this was just going to be a long weekend getaway for fishing. I didn't admit it to him but after Zora and May finally got on the plane back to Arkansas, I needed a real break and I got to thinking about going fishing and extending the invite to McCormick as well. Those two sweet old ladies could really drive me crazy and before I even looked at another file, I needed a break from chasing after bad guys. Truth be told, we both deserved to get away, I honestly didn't know if McCormick would even want to go fishing, him being a city boy for his whole life. He jumped at the offer right away, his eyes lit up like it was Christmas and that he had the biggest box under the tree and he couldn't wait to open it. He followed up his initial glee with a regular list of inquires, 'where were we going, how long were we going for,' and finally he got around to asking what was probably the most important question, 'how do you fish.' His voice, all at once, quieted in intensity and sarcastic-ness and it got suddenly boyish sounding, and if there had been a stone in the den for him to kick at, it would have been altogether appropriate. He admitted, "I've never gone fishing before," something he'd continue to admit all week long. I felt a little like a genie granting someone a wish, or the guy in the desert who comes along to give someone a cup of water.

"Nothing to it, you'll pick it up pretty quick," I said, from my usual perch behind my desk. Now I realize that statement was not entirely truthful. A guy could spend his whole life trying to perfect his fishing skill and not even come close. There was no set manual to fishing that was what I had concluded. You simply found your own rhythm, and your own purpose for doing it. McCormick didn't need to know all that right at the moment though.

I remember the first time I took Tommy up north for a real fishing trip. He must have been about eight at the time. Nancy had signed him up at school to be a Cub Scout and before he went camping with his den, he begged that I take him and show him how. It was just him and I. The kid was so blasted excited. We went for the weekend too, just like McCormick and I were going to do. We brought along enough 'other' food just in case. Nancy insisted on it. It turned out being a good thing too. The first night we ended up having to grill up some burgers, followed by hot dogs for the second night. It wasn't a complete failure though, as we spent half of the day on Sunday giving the fish one more chance to find our hooks. Boy did I pray and wish and hope that morning that the boy would land one. And when I saw him nearly fall over in the stream and jerk at his suddenly heavy line, I held my tongue and my own movement and let him struggle with his catch. We'd been through the same thing what seemed to be dozen's of times in the past few days already and the fish always managed to outsmart him. This time though, I saw a new determination on his young face. Like he knew this was his last chance for the weekend to bag one. This one he was going to land. No matter how much I wanted to do it for him, he had to get the hang of this all by himself. We'd gone over what to do at least a thousand times. I was downstream from him and watched as he made all the right adjustments and began to reel the fish in.

I stood off and watched as this boy of mine found his balance, adjusted his pole and line and worked in the sweetest fish I had ever seen. It didn't matter that it was the size of the palm of his hand. For a second I thought he should release it back into the stream, but before my voice could say it, he was hooping and hollering, making his way toward me, sloshing all the way, excited like any eight year old would be and asking, begging and stating all in the same breath that we take the fish home to show his mom. Who could say no to that? Not me, that was for sure. We packed the thing on as many ice packs as we could find and I assured him about a million times that his first catch would easily and safely make the trip back to Malibu. He chattered all the way home too. I'll never forget that.

Chattering was definitely something that was important in fishing.

OOOOO

"How come you don't go fishing more often Judge, heck you are retired? That's what old guys like you are supposed to do, fish, play cribbage, make birdhouses out in your woodshop, you know? Take a nap in the middle of the 4th inning of the afternoon Dodger game," I tossed out as a joke and got a glare back in return. No, I knew that sort of retirement was never going to be on the Judge's dance card. Yet fishing seemed to be something he did enjoy, given all the equipment he had. It seemed like a natural question to ask him. We stood inside the garage and started to go through the mounds of fishing and camping equipment he had stored away. "You got all this stuff, I'm surprised you stick around here" I said, with a giant flourish of arm motion at the wall in the garage. Since I had been living here, I think he'd only gone once, or maybe twice, with another judge friend of his. He must have stayed in a cabin then, because I remember him only taking a couple of poles and tackle boxes with him. The camping gear had never been touched. I had always wondered why he had all the gear, since I'd seen it every time I worked on the Coyote or his truck or Corvette in the garage. Honestly, I figured it had something to do with his family and that was one of those invisible boundary lines that I never crossed with the Judge. I'm sure he took his son with him, maybe even Nancy, and they had probably gone off camping somewhere north of the city. It was something I could easily picture in my mind. Hardcastle was definitely that sort of family man. Yet, his past was his past, when he would talk about it, I would listen, if not, I didn't broach it with him. I don't think he realized I was watching him and thinking of that but I kept the image in my mind: the one with that sort of perfect campfire scene at the end of the day, the father and son having caught their fill, with Mom gleefully cooking up the trophy. Maybe I was kidding myself though, maybe that was only a scene from a movie, did anyone have that kind of happy reality? He must have noticed the dopey look on my face and he asked what I was thinking about. I went with the 'I've never gone fishing before' line and he shrugged it off. He took a step forward into the menagerie of equipment and began to hand all sorts of odd and unknown gear to me to set aside.

My memory of 'family' kept running in my own mind. I only remember taking some sort of walks with my father, I'm not sure how many times we walked, it was all a blur. I know I was pretty little. I don't know if it was around the block or on the boardwalk or where exactly it was. I know he had a tattoo on his forearm. I couldn't even really picture his face. I had to be really small since my memory of anything else about it was entirely foggy. My Mom never talked about him ever and she'd disposed of any pictures long before I could remember. Given the little memory of him and the fact that my Mom refused to mention him in any way, I couldn't even fathom him packing up anything for some sort of vacation. Therefore, this fishing trip was like some sort of fantasy dream sequence to me.

"Just set that behind you for now," he was saying and I quickly grabbed at what he passed to me and did like I was told. And to answer the question I had asked earlier, he mumbled something about 'being too busy working on cases and not being ready for a rocking chair just yet.' He buried his head and most of his upper torso once again into the mess before us, digging out everything he thought we would need.

We weren't leaving until Friday, very early, he had reiterated that particular point so many times that my internal alarm was already predisposed to getting up at 4am and it was only Wednesday. Whether it was his usual, constant, gruffly reminder or the fact that I was excited to have an actual vacation and learn how to fish at the same time, or a combination thereof who really knew? It was my full intention to make the most out of this opportunity as it presented itself.

Once he got through the mass of paraphernalia against the back and side wall of the garage, he took the few steps back, looked over the pile that I had made in the center and announced that I would need a pair of waders and a pole.

"How'd you figure that one out? Are you some sort of ninja fisherman or something? Got a psychic ability when it comes to seeing through this mess and making that determination?" I had to ask him, being never one to resist a smart aleck comeback.

"No, wiseguy, I'm not a ninja fisherman, whatever the hell that is, I just know I only have two pairs of waders and they're both my size, meaning if you tried to wear a pair, you'd end up floating away. You need to have them sized just for you. And last time I checked, it would take almost three of you to fit into my waders."

I frowned at his raw truthfulness. "Yeah, well, what about the poles? You've got tons of them here." I plucked one up and began to toy with it. There were at least eight different poles that I had already spotted. "I can just use one of them, heck, it's just my first time. I don't need to have the Magic Johnson model, right? It's not like I'm ready for the Pro-Fishers Tour."

He looked away and said shortly, "You should have one of your own, that's why." And he let that be his simple answer as he all but jumped into the new pile he had me build and began an even more pointed sort out of the gear we would need.

I frowned again. This was another one of those boundary lines. I think I knew the meaning of having to get waders and a new pole, and yet there might have been further meaning behind that meaning or maybe I was simply over thinking all of it. Maybe there was no reason behind the reason at all. I let it go as another one of the amazingly kind gestures he had a habit of making and he made millions of them, most without thought. It was as if he never had to make a decision between right and wrong, he was solely wired to right. He was a hard man to keep pace with, and yet he never expected anyone to live his life or do things his way, he understood that other path's would lead to the same end. I sure wanted to find the same end as he did though. There was no sense to question him, as he was already knee deep into the pile and directing me to start yet another pile.

It appeared that fishing required a proper inventory of needs and a plan of action.

OOOOO

I had told him about the trip on Sunday night and here it was Wednesday already. When I had stepped out to the gatehouse earlier, he had book upon book stacked up on the coffee table. Fishing Made Easy, Fishing Basics, How to Fish, Fishing 101 and at least a dozen other titles scattered about. I wondered when and where he had found the time to acquire them all since he seemed intent on driving me crazy with questions and theories of fishing, but now I knew where some of his questions were coming from. He was filling his head with everything he could find. "Are you really reading all this stuff?" I asked him as I picked up one that actually turned out to be a book of humorous anecdotes about famous fisherman and their first catch exploits. I realized these were my books from my own shelves. Some had been gifts, others I had picked up myself. I had almost forgotten how much I liked fishing and how I enjoyed learning more about it. It seemed like a lifetime ago, but it all came flooding back in a hurry.

"Not word for word, but I think I'm getting an understanding for the basics of it. If I'm gonna do this, I want to do it the right way. I figure the clothing will make me look goofy enough, so there's no sense in being a complete idiot right? It's more important to fish well, than to look good." He answered me, plucking the book I held in my hand. "I haven't read this one yet, I'm saving it for tonight."

"Take it from me, leave the books alone and just go with your own instincts on this, I think you'll enjoy it more that way." I watched him for a few extra seconds as he let my suggestion sink in. "You don't learn how to fish from reading it in a book," I added for emphasis. "You just do it."

"Sounds like racing, and I'm pretty good at that," he replied, and he flashed a smile, which led me to believe he finally understood my meaning.

"You'll have to answer that one after you try it for the first time and let me know how they compare. Right now, we need to get over to the pier and get that gear for you, are you ready to go?"

"Sure, let me just grab my wallet. How much do you think this stuff will cost me?"

"Don't worry about it, it's on me, consider it a bonus for services rendered." He looked at me like he didn't believe what I said so I added, "You've been doing a lot of work around here, and not just the cases. I notice it, that's all I'm saying."

If you were going fishing, you had to have the right equipment.

OOOOO

I made sure to grab my wallet anyway, maybe there would be something at the store that I could buy for him, a lure or some sort of new fangled gizmo that he'd never get for himself.

His generosity was beyond compare. And I had never in my entire life encountered anyone like him. He really wasn't hard to figure out, behind and beneath the exterior was a big softie, I learned that right away. The moment he turned that beat up old pick-up of his into Gulls Way, I knew that he wasn't quite the same guy I thought he was initially. The man in the black robe who sat behind the bench, dolling out one-sided justice and sent people off to prison without thought. That wasn't true at all. In this past year and a half I came to realize that being a Judge was not an easy task and Hardcastle gave a tremendous amount of thought, aided with care and concern into every decision he rendered. What I always wondered though, was why he chose me for this experiment of his? I know I wasn't the first, nor did I know how many times he'd tried this before me. Was it something he saw in me and just knew or was it merely a roll of the dice? It was one of things I could never ask him, maybe out of fear, or embarrassment or both. All I knew was that this was working for me and I hoped for him too. Maybe I'd never get that answer, maybe it was merely one of those 'stars lining up in the universe' sorts of thing.

Maybe it was sort of like fishing.

OOOOO

"What made you read all those books?" I asked him as we drove down to the gear and tackle shop.

"I wasn't planning on it, if that's what you think," he began, "I was dusting in there and spotted one and then one thing led to another and I ended up grabbing a bunch of them. They're interesting, I'm picking up a lot of stuff that might be helpful. You must be pretty good at fishing?" He questioned me.

"A lot of those books were gifts, from co-workers, and Nancy and Tommy, they knew I liked to go, I suppose they felt giving me a book would make a nice gift. And it was, don't get me wrong, but you know how it gets to be when you mention you like one thing and suddenly every present you get has something to do with that one thing? After awhile you get tired of it," I explained.

I saw him nod his understanding.

"Is that why you don't fish too much anymore, you're tired of it?"

"Ah, see you misunderstood me, I'm not tired of fishing, I'm tired of being reminded that I like to fish. You know I like other stuff too, but no one wants to hear or listen to me about any of that. It's easier and safer to stick with fishing, less complicated and impersonal that way. You don't have to take the time to get to know anyone, it's simply, Hardcastle, oh he likes fishing."

He let out a small chuckle and I wasn't sure he did quite get my meaning, but then he said something to me that told me that he did. Only his analogy was chillingly sad and ironic.

"I guess it's like hearing, the 'con' part of ex-con all the time." He turned his head to look out the window and I couldn't see his face. That stigma would always be with him and nothing would ever change it. I think he knew I didn't feel that way about him, but I could never be sure. As unguarded as he came across to everyone, often insisting that he hid nothing, I knew he still carried some darkness inside of him. Every man did. I didn't think of him as an ex-con or a con, I thought of him as my friend, first and foremost.

He certainly didn't need to read any 'how-to' fishing books, he already knew exactly to do.

OOOOO

Even though we were only a few blocks away from the store, it seemed like the distance was never ending. After I opened up my brash mouth and made the comment about ex-con's, we both were silent. I hope he didn't think I meant him, I know he didn't think of me as being an ex-con. He treated me as an equal in every possible way there was. It was, however a lot of other people who chose to label me and cast me aside for that very reason. At that moment though, I couldn't bring myself to clarify my comment to him. Sometimes silence was the best thing to do, instead of digging yourself in deeper.

He pulled into a parking spot and began to tell me about waders. I was relieved that he shifted the conversation and surprisingly amused by his depth of knowledge on the subject at hand. And then again, wasn't that just the point he had made to me? I decided right then not to get him a 'fishing' present this time out. I'd give more thought to it and find him something that would be more appropriate for him.

I never thought a pair of waders and a fly fishing rod would cost that much. I mean, you know those red, shiny rubber boots you had as a kid, the ones that were always too big on you and felt, well, sort of like they could be waders, because they often times came up to over your knee? Those boots weren't that expensive as the dozens of waders before me, at least not that I could recall. Waders for fishing, on the other hand, were like spun gold. Some of them were insulated, some were designed for beginners like me, to help us keep our balance in the water. I was more than willing to get fitted for a pair that was your basic, lowest level of quality, but the Judge wouldn't hear of it. I had to get some brand name that I had never even heard of, but that he insisted would last the rest of my natural life. I guess that meant we'd be making fishing a regular type event. And I hoped right then and there that I'd like fishing and that I be moderately good at it just so his wader investment would be worthwhile. The sales clerk agreed with Hardcase of course, heck it was a good sale for him, of course he'd agree. The rod was another story. It took him, meaning the Judge, almost two hours to 'fit me' with the right one. I still don't understand what exactly that meant, but he sized up rod after rod next to me and when he couldn't decide between the last two standing, he told the clerk he wanted both of them. My jaw must have dropped open, I had seen the price tag on one of them and I know it was three figures.

"Close your mouth kiddo, you'll want the flies for fishing, not in your stomach."

I pulled him aside as the clerk ran off to 'ring up' the purchases with a gleeful look on his face. "Judge, honestly, one rod is enough, I don't think I can fish with one in each hand anyway. That might be something I'd master well, the second or third time out."

"Nonsense, different conditions require different equipment, don't worry about it, you'll get plenty of use out of them. Think of 'em like race tires, you use different ones when the track is wet vs. when the track is dry right?"

Whether his analogy to fishing was true or not, who knew, I couldn't argue with his logic about racing tires and at this point he knew way more about racing than I knew about fishing and he was able to use that to his advantage. It just made sense.

Who would have thought that auto racing and fishing had so much in common?

OOOOO

The endless questions continued into the next day. This time he wondered about casting, trolling and proper rod movement of the cast and those were just the beginnings of a long line of continued inquiries he had about the upcoming weekend. His questions bordered on exhaustion, even though he was more than sincere in tossing them out for discussion. When he got hold of something, he didn't let go. It wasn't like his questions were foolish. Everything he asked made sense and he wanted to gain an understanding, there was no doubt about that, they were endless and tiresome though. And McCormick had this strange ability to go off on crazy tangents and lead the discussion into something completely unrelated to fishing and yet somehow, before you knew it, he'd circle around back to the original topic. It was definitely an artistic quality.

We spent the entire afternoon on Thursday discussing casting technique, part of it out in the yard, where he could demonstrate what he'd learned from the various books he had been reading and including right through our dinner of meatloaf and mashed potatoes. He was ecstatic afterwards as we sat in the den looking at the TV and he flipped on PBS and found a documentary on the history of fly fishing. He buried the remote into the cushion of the chair he fell into so I couldn't change the channel. It didn't matter, at least that shut him up for two hours.

The good thing was that on Friday morning, he must have woken up at 2am because he had the truck loaded to the gills and he had a goofy looking smile plastered on his face, as he leaned against the hood and waited for me to check and make sure we had everything.

I settled in to drive and flicked on the news radio station that I like to listen to. The topic of discussion concerned a local ordinance in the city that was going to prohibit certain street parking in some instances. I didn't give it much thought as I listened to the opposing sides of view, one being presented by the city's attorney, as parking on a busy city street didn't really affect me, but McCormick, in his highly awakened state was becoming vehemently opposed even to the suggestion of it, claiming it was directed at, as always, at the people who it would hurt the most, even though it was marketed at being a good thing. I listened for a few more minutes to the radio discussion while attempting to tune out McCormick's rant, and in doing so I came to agree with what he was saying and I began to listen more to him than to the radio. His understanding of the ordinance was excellent as were his objections to it. I asked him how he knew so much about it and he mentioned he'd been following it in the LA Times. All I could think of was that he would make a pretty damn good attorney with arguments like the one he was displaying, he easily could have put the city's attorney in his place. The radio went into a string of commercials and the two of us kept right on discussing the topic. I told him I agreed with him and his look of surprise was priceless.

He made an interesting case.

OOOOO

That had to be a first. As we drove along up the PCH and we started to discuss the stupid proposed ordinance they were talking about on the radio. I made a case for opposing it and Hardcase ended up actually agreeing with me. I gotta tell ya, it felt pretty good to argue a case and have him concur.

After that he changed the station to some Big Band era music and the sound from Dizzy Gillespie's trumpet filled the truck cab. It got me to thinking about the future though. I'd been toying with the idea of law school on and off for the last couple of months. I've been taking all sorts of classes working toward some sort of Bachelor's degree, but not really knowing what I would do with it and my grades were decent, and some of the classes were actually quite interesting. I didn't know if I could hack law school though, but I had just clearly argued my case, albeit a minor one in the scheme of things, in front of a retired superior court judge and he accepted my defense. I could always tell when Hardcastle placated me just to get me to shut up and this wasn't one of those times. And he even told me I made a good case, just before he changed the station. I'd have to keep the prospects of law school in the back of my mind.

The sun was coming up in the east, over the smoggy foothills. It was a huge orange fireball and all at once the sky was a burst of reds, pinks, golds and gleaming whiteness. It didn't last long as the color burned off giving way to dawn, but it was beautiful. I wanted to say something to the Judge about it, but he beat me to it.

"That was something, wasn't it?" he said, keeping his eye on the road.

I was still focused on the sky and I could tell he glanced over in my direction and I gave him a partial nod, just to let him know I heard him and that I agreed with him.

"Wait till we get up to the river, it's a real beautiful spot I got picked out for us. I tell ya sometimes I get so caught up in the view up there, that I forget what I'm up there to do. I bet ya I lost a couple dozen fish that way, just from daydreaming about the scenery. Sounds crazy huh?" he said to me.

"Not at all, I can see why people get hooked on being out in nature. It sure has concrete and bus exhaust beat by a long shot." I turned back to talk directly to him. "You're lucky you've been able to do this sort of thing."

I'm not sure why I felt I needed to tell him something he already knew.

OOOOO

How was I supposed to answer that? I know I was lucky that I had a wife and a son, and before that I had my father and my brother to fish and camp with. I know he wasn't exactly fishing for sympathy, because he never did. He was an expert at having accepted what was his lot in life, he complained and even joked about it sure, but he never dwelt on it or used it as some sort of 'poor me' excuse. Maybe his complaining was how he dealt with things. A small price to pay in my book, he was entitled to that.

"You know if you like this spot, you'd love Pete Torhorst's cabin. I can give him a call and see if we can use it for a week next month maybe," I finally said, attempting to keep the conversation centered on fishing instead of feelings.

"Yeah, I'd hate to not get your money's worth out of those waders. I imagine three days won't quite do it," he shot back at me. "Heck, maybe by then I'll even be tying my own flies."

He got the message, so I joked back at him, "Okay, now I know you're sleep deprived, tying your own flies takes years of practice, and don't forget you haven't even caught a fish yet," I chuckled at his boldness, yet knowing by commenting to him that he'd take it on as a challenge and do his darnedness to prove me wrong in the coming month.

"I don't know Judge, I pick this stuff pretty fast."

He definitely had the boasting part of fishing down pat.

OOOOO

It must have been about eleven in the morning when we left the paved roads behind and took the dirt and gravel trails. I offered to do some serious off-road driving in the Judge's pick-up, and I got an evil snarl from him for even suggesting it. I laughed it off. The only time he would actually let me do that sort of driving was when we were chasing after some low-life bent on making us endanger our own lives. He didn't see the need to have a little fun at the expense of his suspension. He continued to drive slow and easy and he knew just where he was going. I had to agree that this sure was a beautiful area. Every bend was better than the one we just passed.

"It's just up a little ways," he started to say, over the Artie Shaw song on the radio, "we can take the truck right into the campsite, so unloading will be easy."

I laughed heartily. "Did you forget how much stuff you had me pack? Unloading is going to be a nightmare," I told him in no uncertain terms.

"You're complaining already? Did you forget this was a vacation?"

"No, I haven't forgotten, it's just that even when we have vacations, I get stuck doing all the heavy stuff, or did you forget San Rio Blanco?" I moped and added a bit of a whine in my voice.

Hardcase wasn't going for it. "It won't take you too long, 'sides, there's no point in trying to fish when the sun's right above us, like this. They're all sleeping under the cool rocks now, they're not interested in eating right now. We'll get our camp set up and hit the river later on, maybe we'll get lucky for dinner, otherwise it's the stew." He pulled the truck into the sweetest little spot I had ever seen. He was right. It was better than anything I had seen in the Fishing and Stream magazines that he had lying about the house.

I did my best and tried to follow his directions on setting up the tent, managing to throw in some jibes every now and again, when he would say something so un-Hardcastle like. After I got the tent up, I began pulling out all the other stuff from the back of the truck, the sleeping bags, the extra food, the coolers, and whatever else was back there. The Judge fixed everything up and put it all where he wanted it. I'm sure he had some reasoning behind it, because it seemed somewhat regimented as to how he had arranged everything. I reckoned it had something to do with him and the army.

"Are we going to war Captain?" I asked him as he shifted the cooler from one spot to another, before finally settling in on a third location and final resting place.

"What?" he asked, giving me a befuddled look, like he hadn't a clue as to what I was teasing him about?

"I think the cooler was fine where it was two times ago, can we just get out the gear and try our luck at fishing now?" It didn't matter to me that the fish were avoiding the hot sun above, this was first time excitement for me and I wanted to get in there and take some swings.

He straightened up and checked around all the gear we had placed about and then up at the sky to check where the sun was. "Yeah, I think we could give it try, it still might be a little too early, but it's what we came to do anyway."

I went to grab for the new pair of waders as soon as he gave the word. I sat down on one of the coolers we had brought and began to put them on over my jeans. They still were a perfect fit, just as they had been in the store, as I stood up and adjusted the suspenders over my long sleeve t-shirt. Next it was the pole. "Which rod should I take?" I said aloud. I took one in each hand and tried to decide by touch alone that was until Hardcase came up to me and plucked the slightly cheaper one and set it off by the tent.

"Go with the one in your hand for right now. The line will fly better, since there really isn't any wind right now.

I lifted the rod off the ground and tried to get a good feel for it. I guess he was right, no matter how many times I had 'practiced casting' out by the pool, until I did it for real, I'd never know. I was sort of hoping he'd put a little bit more of a spring in his step and lead the way, but he was taking his time getting his stuff together. I suppose it was his way of telling me I had to do this alone.

No one ever said anything about having to have patience before you even got in the water to fish.

OOOOO

He was in such an all-fire hurry that I purposely took my own damn time, in hopes that he'd slow down and relax himself. Maybe he did a little, but he still acted like a kid in a candy store. If the fish were indeed asleep, they had better look out, because McCormick was bent on creating a maelstrom that they would never recover from.

He tore into the water on his own personal mission. He almost fell in head first but was able to catch himself. "Would you just take it slow and easy?" I called out in an exasperated tone to him. "The water didn't do anything to you to deserve your crazy enthusiasm."

He stopped dead in his tracks, after having taken maybe half a dozen steps and realized he was acting a little out of control. "Yeah, you're right, I'm libel to step on one of those trout right. That's not how I want my first fish to get caught."

I kept putting my gear on, keeping one eye on him, this time he patiently watched his steps and he carefully got out to midstream and waited for me to head out. I wish I had a camera right then and there, because he looked downright silly. An overgrown, first time angler who was all decked out in the finest gear money could buy, but didn't quite know how to start.

I grabbed my rod and tackle and headed in myself and he made some small talk about how great the waders were. I let him fish upstream from me, giving him the first crack at anything coming down. I could feel his eyes on me, watching every move I made. "You gonna fish or gawk at me?" I finally said.

He quickly scrambled with his tackle trying to figure out which lure to use. I could see that he wasn't sure how to start. "Try the mayfly first, you'll see it on the top of the water." He instantly plucked on out and put it on his line. I acted like I was busy with my own gear, but I kept an eye on him and watched as he casted off. It was an elementary and mechanical looking cast, but he'd loosen up as the weekend went on and he gained more confidence. After that he focused on where the fly was in the water and putting into practice what he'd seen and read in the books as well as all the stuff he'd asked me about.

It didn't take him long to reel in his line and cast it off again, the second cast looked a lot more relaxed, as did subsequent ones after that. I think I may have actually seen him take a moment to smile as he must have realized just what it was he was doing. That's when I was glad he had agreed to come along.

I went back to my own attempt to catch something and let him have his own time to discover what I already knew about fishing.

I don't know how much time had passed before I heard a familiar splash in the water, I checked my own line and there was nothing there so I turned to see where abouts McCormick was and spotted his line and lure not more than eight feet off from where I stood. He had a trout hooked on and now it was up to him as to whether he'd be able to land it.

After I saw the fish, my eyes tracked toward him. I noticed something in his demeanor that I had never seen before. It was an intensity in his eyes and a determination in his body language. He let instinct take over and his instincts were correct.

He steadied himself in the water, bending slightly at the knees, staying relaxed, eyes fixed on the lure and arms and hands easily working the rod and line in total unison. The only question was how long it would take him to reel in his catch. I held my breath as I watched him work. He gave a final jerk to the rod and pulled it back just as sweet as I've seen.

When he brought up it out of the water, the fish was gone.

OOOOO

I grinned from ear to ear when I saw Hardcastle watching me try to bag that trout out of the corner of my eye. It was the same old story, so close and yet so far away. I thought I had the damn thing caught, hell, I had it cleaned, gutted, filleted and grilled.

Man, it all happened so quick, I didn't have time to think about anything, my mind had gone completely blank the instant I felt the fish grab the bait. What happened after that was anyone's guess.

"I lost him," I called out to the Judge.

"You both put up a helluva good fight. You'll get the next one."

That was my first catch, hopefully not the last.

OOOOO

We ate the stew that I had cooked up two days earlier, just as a precaution. And it was a good thing I had brought it along. McCormick said it tasted better warmed up anyway. Our first afternoon of fishing had netted nothing for either of us.

As we sat there eating, he began to regale me with a slew of jokes he obviously had been rehearsing.

I finally interrupted him and asked him why he was so happy, seeing how 'his big one had gotten away.'

He wasted no time into putting it into perspective for me. "It's just a fish Judge, I'll get one next time."

"I thought you had it, you did everything just right," I told him.

"Aren't you the one who told me that there was no right or wrong way to fish?"

"You know what I mean, you stayed loose, in control," I started to explain.

"Well obviously none of that made a difference to the trout. And he got away with one of my nymph's too."

Even the good ones got away.

OOOOO

The night air was brisk, so as the sun was setting we made it a point to gather up some extra firewood just in case we would need a little extra warmth as the night wore on. We split up and went off to find some. By the time I hiked back to the site, Hardcastle had a real roaring fire going. I asked him if he was expecting company with a blaze like that and he answered that if I didn't want to stay warm overnight, I could just say the word and he'd be glad to take care of it for me.

"I know, you're just keeping the wolves and bears at bay."

"All the times I've been up here and I've never seen a wolf or bear anywhere near here," he said.

He stood there, near the fire and stoked and poked at it. I set down the firewood I had gathered up and then made my way over to the truck.

"Where ya going?" he asked me.

"I just gotta get something out of the truck."

"McCormick, you're not going to need a gun, nothing's going to attack us overnight."

I laughed and shook my head, "I'm not getting the gun."

He was sitting on one of the coolers when I came back carrying a brown paper bag.

"What in the bag? More food? Didn't you have enough stew? There's still more in the kettle if you're hungry."

"It's not food," I said, as I sat down on the warm ground near the fire. "I brought along a little surprise." I opened up the bag and began to pull out its contents. "Are you gonna come over here or what?"

"I suppose this is that important to you." He got up stiffly from the cooler he sat on, went into the tent and pulled out his sleeping bag, put it on the ground by the fire and sat down on it. "What's the surprise?"

"This!" I said, pulling out a $60 bottle of Eagle Rare Single Barrel Whiskey and two glasses. I handed the bottle over to him to see.

"Kiddo, this is some expensive stuff here," he began, followed by, "Ten years old, this cost you a fortune. This is good stuff, are you sure you want to open it up?"

"Of course I'm sure, that's why I bought it." I reached back into the bag and pulled out a box of cigars to go with the whiskey and handed that over to him too.

"Cubans?" This time his mouth dropped open and I was quick to remind him about saving the flies for tomorrow's fishing and I watched his mouth go from surprise to happiness. "McCormick, you must have used up every last dime you've saved on this."

"Not exactly, I just think of it as money well spent."

"This is nice kiddo, real nice." He had handed the bottle back to me, but he kept the box of cigars and began to open them up. "Whatever made you think of this?"

"I noticed in one of the pictures in the den, the one of you and Judge Powell, that the two of you had gone fishing. You both were holding a glass of whiskey in one hand and a cigar in the other." I lowered my voice and added, "And you had your catch of fish laid out in front of you. The two of you looked like you were having the time of your life. So, I gave him a call the other day and asked him if he remembered what you were drinking. He told me about the Eagle Rare and about the cigars and he said you were quite an expert about both. Now that's something I never knew. I'm hoping you can enlighten me this weekend. And even though we didn't catch any fish today, two out of three isn't bad huh?" I had poured him a glass and handed it over to him and I took one in my own hand. He reached over and gave me a cigar. "To fishing!" I said, toasting my glass. He held his up and we drank down the sweetest whiskey I ever tasted.

What a catch, indeed.

The end.