When the River Turned Silver

3:17AM showed on my watch's dim glow when the pickup tires finally crunched over the Caddo River's gravel access. August heat had left the air thick enough to chew, yet the water breathed up a chill that made my neck hairs prickle. I traced the fluorocarbon line through my fingers – its ghostly transparency perfect for these crystal-clear pools.

『Should've brought the bug spray,』 I muttered, slapping at the seventeenth mosquito as dawn bled through cypress knees. The jerkbait felt foreign after weeks of finesse fishing. First cast kissed a lily pad's shadow. Then the surface erupted like someone dropped a anvil.

Rod bowed double as line screamed off the spool. 『Not snagged... not snagged...』 I chanted, knees trembling when a bronze flash rolled near shore. Twenty-three inches of smallmouth vaulted clear, gills flaring like a dragon's ruff. My hands smelled of fish slime and victory until noon.

Driving home, I kept checking the rearview – half expecting that fish to come demanding its photo back.