The canoe slid onto the shore of the small island and grated on the sand as it came to a stop. It was late in the day, and the sun was low in the sky, with a red sunset just beginning to spread over the horizon. The boy in the bow of the canoe jumped out and hauled the canoe more up on the shore of the island and the old man in the stern stepped out. He glanced at his grandson with new appreciation of how he was growing, and was on the cusp of adolescence, with his baby fat gone and a taller slightly gangly build than just the year before. The boy was growing fast and soon he wouldn't be a boy anymore. The old man gave the boy a hand and they moved the canoe up further on the little island in the river, and unloaded their camping gear. In short oder a stone fire ring with a campfire was going, and the fish they had caught that afternoon were on spits grilling over the low fire.
"Is this the place, grandpa?" the boy asked.
The old man looked around and smiled.
"Yup, this is the Island." he said. But the way he said 'the island' the boy knew it was the special place he'd heard of in all those old stores his grandfather has told him. Stories about the old days on the river, and the hell raising of the old man and his friends in their rambunctious youth. Stories of an earlier and simpler time.
"Yeah, we'd lay hands on a bottle or two of hooch, fish until the moon came up, and have a good old time. Maybe even some illegal hunting here and there if opportunity presented itself." the old man said as he chuckled with the memory.
"You mean you all poached game?" the boy asked surprised.
"Yeah we did. Back then times were a bit different. And don't look so down on poachers. You have some good ones in your family tree back down on the eastern shore. Many a duck dinner or venison roast made it's way to the dinner table in bad times, when money was in short supply. " he told boy.
The fish were sizzling on the spits and they dined well. The old man watched as the boy took out his yellow handle trapper, and very neatly filleted the fish on his tin plate. The carbon steel blades has developed a rich patina from the hunting and fishing trips with the old man, and the acids from the blood and fish guts had made a blueish iridescent hue on the steel. The boy slid the blade in and carefully cut up along the spine and the old man was impressed that the boy had the knife so sharp that it didn't disturb the well cooked fish, but neatly sliced along the crispy skin. The boy carefully lifted off the top layer of fillet and the old man clapped his hands with applause.
"Well done, pup. Glad to see you're keeping it nice and sharp." the old man said.
"Just like you showed me, hone from kick to tip, nice and slow. Finish on the back of an old belt." the boy said with a grin.
They ate in a companionable silence, enjoying the meal, the soft sound of the river flowing by, the night breeze in the pine trees. Night had fallen as they ate, and an owl hooted in the distance. Overhead, the stars were brilliant points of light in the sky, and even a bit of the Milky Way could be seen. By the light of the fire, the boy cleaned off the blade of his trapper, and the thin bright ribbon of sharp edge gleamed in contrast with the blued steel. The boy finished cleaning his knife and looked up.
"Why do we like it so much, grandpa?" he asked, gesturing around at their surrounding.
The old man looked around and thought for a moment.
"Maybe because we need to recharge the batteries once in a while. To get away from so called civilization and be reminded." he said.
"Reminded of what, grandpa?" the boy asked.
This time it was the old man's turn to gesture at their surroundings.
"That in the bigger scheme of things, we're just bugs on a rock. That river has been flowing by this island long long before me and my crazy friends used drink too much out here and howl at the moon. And it'll be here long after I'm gone. Those stars up there were looking down on man when he was sitting in a cave, and will be there long after we're history. Oh, we can build big cities and master some pretty impressive technology, but then once in a while Mother Nature can come along and raise a hurricane or throw an earthquake and bring it all down. You come out here and look around and you realize that in the big picture, we human beings have a greatly over inflated opinion of our importance in things. In the end, we're just bugs on a rock."
The boy thought about what the old man said, and looked up at the stars. While they sat, the old man took the pot off the fire and made the hot chocolate that had been a tradition with them since the boys first trip with the old man. With both of the tin cups filled, the old man took a flask from his pack and poured a generous portion of dark rum into his cup. The boy held out his cup and looked at the old man questioningly.
Come on grandpa, I think I'm old enough now for a little." he said.
The old man looked at his grandson carefully, again seeing the hardening jaw line and cheekbones of a budding young man. He reached over and poured some of the rum into the out held cup.
"I guess you may be now." the old man said. Then he pointed his finger at the boy. "But don't let your mother know or she just may use that nice sharp trapper on me!"
They sat and looked at the stars and listened to the sounds of the river at night. Someplace out on the water a fish jumped and made a good sized splash.
"I wonder if he'll be breakfast?" the boy said.
"If you get up early enough!" the old man told him. Smiling at the boys unending enthusiasm for fishing.
"Goodnight, Grandpa." the boy said as he finished his drink and yawned. He rolled up in his bedroll and was fast asleep in a few minutes. The old man shook his head at the youngsters ability to fall asleep fast anywhere. He poured himself another short round from the flask, and lit his pipe. He reached over and picked up the boys yellow handle trapper where he'd set it on his hat next to where he was sleeping. The old man looked over the knife and it made him nostalgic to think that it wasn't that long ago that the boy had used it on his first deer on that opening morning a few years ago. And it was only the year before that they had been fishing in Alaska and the boy had used the knife on fresh out of the river salmon. Both clip and spey blades were a nice blue, and the contrast with the yellow scales was eye pleasing. The boy had taken good care of the knife, and the old man reached over and replaced it on the hat. His grandson was growing up before his eyes.
He took a good swig of the rum and thought about a fishing trip to the Florida Keys with the boy. He was getting the size to handle salt water fish.
"Is this the place, grandpa?" the boy asked.
The old man looked around and smiled.
"Yup, this is the Island." he said. But the way he said 'the island' the boy knew it was the special place he'd heard of in all those old stores his grandfather has told him. Stories about the old days on the river, and the hell raising of the old man and his friends in their rambunctious youth. Stories of an earlier and simpler time.
"Yeah, we'd lay hands on a bottle or two of hooch, fish until the moon came up, and have a good old time. Maybe even some illegal hunting here and there if opportunity presented itself." the old man said as he chuckled with the memory.
"You mean you all poached game?" the boy asked surprised.
"Yeah we did. Back then times were a bit different. And don't look so down on poachers. You have some good ones in your family tree back down on the eastern shore. Many a duck dinner or venison roast made it's way to the dinner table in bad times, when money was in short supply. " he told boy.
The fish were sizzling on the spits and they dined well. The old man watched as the boy took out his yellow handle trapper, and very neatly filleted the fish on his tin plate. The carbon steel blades has developed a rich patina from the hunting and fishing trips with the old man, and the acids from the blood and fish guts had made a blueish iridescent hue on the steel. The boy slid the blade in and carefully cut up along the spine and the old man was impressed that the boy had the knife so sharp that it didn't disturb the well cooked fish, but neatly sliced along the crispy skin. The boy carefully lifted off the top layer of fillet and the old man clapped his hands with applause.
"Well done, pup. Glad to see you're keeping it nice and sharp." the old man said.
"Just like you showed me, hone from kick to tip, nice and slow. Finish on the back of an old belt." the boy said with a grin.
They ate in a companionable silence, enjoying the meal, the soft sound of the river flowing by, the night breeze in the pine trees. Night had fallen as they ate, and an owl hooted in the distance. Overhead, the stars were brilliant points of light in the sky, and even a bit of the Milky Way could be seen. By the light of the fire, the boy cleaned off the blade of his trapper, and the thin bright ribbon of sharp edge gleamed in contrast with the blued steel. The boy finished cleaning his knife and looked up.
"Why do we like it so much, grandpa?" he asked, gesturing around at their surrounding.
The old man looked around and thought for a moment.
"Maybe because we need to recharge the batteries once in a while. To get away from so called civilization and be reminded." he said.
"Reminded of what, grandpa?" the boy asked.
This time it was the old man's turn to gesture at their surroundings.
"That in the bigger scheme of things, we're just bugs on a rock. That river has been flowing by this island long long before me and my crazy friends used drink too much out here and howl at the moon. And it'll be here long after I'm gone. Those stars up there were looking down on man when he was sitting in a cave, and will be there long after we're history. Oh, we can build big cities and master some pretty impressive technology, but then once in a while Mother Nature can come along and raise a hurricane or throw an earthquake and bring it all down. You come out here and look around and you realize that in the big picture, we human beings have a greatly over inflated opinion of our importance in things. In the end, we're just bugs on a rock."
The boy thought about what the old man said, and looked up at the stars. While they sat, the old man took the pot off the fire and made the hot chocolate that had been a tradition with them since the boys first trip with the old man. With both of the tin cups filled, the old man took a flask from his pack and poured a generous portion of dark rum into his cup. The boy held out his cup and looked at the old man questioningly.
Come on grandpa, I think I'm old enough now for a little." he said.
The old man looked at his grandson carefully, again seeing the hardening jaw line and cheekbones of a budding young man. He reached over and poured some of the rum into the out held cup.
"I guess you may be now." the old man said. Then he pointed his finger at the boy. "But don't let your mother know or she just may use that nice sharp trapper on me!"
They sat and looked at the stars and listened to the sounds of the river at night. Someplace out on the water a fish jumped and made a good sized splash.
"I wonder if he'll be breakfast?" the boy said.
"If you get up early enough!" the old man told him. Smiling at the boys unending enthusiasm for fishing.
"Goodnight, Grandpa." the boy said as he finished his drink and yawned. He rolled up in his bedroll and was fast asleep in a few minutes. The old man shook his head at the youngsters ability to fall asleep fast anywhere. He poured himself another short round from the flask, and lit his pipe. He reached over and picked up the boys yellow handle trapper where he'd set it on his hat next to where he was sleeping. The old man looked over the knife and it made him nostalgic to think that it wasn't that long ago that the boy had used it on his first deer on that opening morning a few years ago. And it was only the year before that they had been fishing in Alaska and the boy had used the knife on fresh out of the river salmon. Both clip and spey blades were a nice blue, and the contrast with the yellow scales was eye pleasing. The boy had taken good care of the knife, and the old man reached over and replaced it on the hat. His grandson was growing up before his eyes.
He took a good swig of the rum and thought about a fishing trip to the Florida Keys with the boy. He was getting the size to handle salt water fish.
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