The Shine Journal
Exceptional Flash, Poetry, Art and Photography!
The Fishing Trip
by
Diane H. Racine
The special time was here at last
My father and I alone amidst tackle, wiggly worms and the prospect of
fish.
Little did we know that our time together
Would be interrupted, transformed from idyllic to horrifying.
Earlier we’d left the family in the tent, nestled by the Kern River,
my mother, younger sister and brother still asleep.
Creeping out to the early morning, greeted by the dew-covered coldness
while scents of pine and sage wafted to our nostrils.
Gathered first were fishing poles-the tallest and a shorter one.
Next the white cardboard “can of worms” where buried deep
within the moist compost were the long red segmented earthworms.
And of course the worn green tackle box, each layer lovingly
organized with weights, lures, hooks and multicolored eggs.
We walked the road that caressed the river’s route, over the bridge that
allowed passage over the water,
turned back and soon found ourselves across from the distant campsite.
Finding smooth stones for seats we settled on the sloping bank.
Awash in warmth as the sun peered over the distant peak
while across the waterway, slumber and shadows remained.
We busied ourselves in preparation. Tossing lines into the glistening
gentle aquamarine swirls, we waited patiently for bites as hours passed.
I was enjoying the coveted time under a cloudless blue sky, watching
glints of color
sparkle as sun reflected off water caps and the rainbow scales of trout
jumping for early morning insects as thoughts of tonight’s dinner played
in my head.
I rarely had time alone with my father. He worked long hours
and when home others vied for his attention as well.
I could count on summer camping, and fishing for we shared a love of the
outdoors.
Suddenly our peaceful silence was shattered by a long squeal of shrieking
brakes. Following fast on the sound a car loomed into sight and like a
horror movie in slow motion it slid off the road and began
a madcap descent towards the unsuspecting campers below, my siblings by
now playing in the sand.
Accompanied by jarring sounds of branches ripping from trees and metal
scraping
as it recoiled against granite boulders, and still it yet spun on.
At first stunned silence and immobility. Then “Oh my God”
with my father leaping up in forward momentum as though toward rescue.
But, between he and the rest of his family sat an impassable river
thwarting his attempts.
So we watched the movie clip run its brief course. Our own moment ended
by the Fates.
The next minutes spent scrambling back to the family, spared after all.
This incident to become a memory that would last a lifetime.
Motivation: Memories from childhood
Bio: Diane Racine, a wife and mother lives in the NW with her husband of 37 years. She has a passion for gardening, quilting, digital photography, writing, genealogy, reading, music and enjoys watching an eclectic assortment of movies. She writes because she must since recently finding her writer's voice while also trying to balance her busy life which includes her work in the medical field, volunteering and her hobbies.,
Image by:Ben Earwicker Garrison Photography http://www.garrisonphoto.org
