Floyd stood on the end of the dock feeling nervous. The Boatman was coming. He heard a familiar lapping and a large canoe came into view, guided by an older man in a fishing hat, plaid shirt, vest, and waders. You want me to put her on the beach or can you get in dockside? the man asked casually. Floyds eyes widened. Youre Charon? Youre The Boatman? The man did not reply, but cast out a loop of rope to bring him flush. My dad and I used to go on down to the southwest part and spend us a whole day landing bass. Fine times we had. B-bass? Floyd asked, taking the mans hand to climb into the canoe. You use flies or grubs? Depended on the day, Charon said, pushing away from the dock, and whether or not the wind was rushing the reeds. He gestured to a small cooler. Help yourself. Floyd pulled out an ice cold Budweiser and smiled. Dont mind if I do, he said. Breakfast of champions, they said in unison. My dad had a grub lure he called Barbs Complaint, he said to Charon, picking up a rod, on account of my moms name being Barb and how she sat on it one time. Charon laughed and shook his head. He still uses it! Floyd paused, remembering where he was and who he was with. You wanna go see if hes casting today? Yes! Floyd replied, feeling a rush of amazement and joy. Done and done, The Boatman said, rowing them off into the deep fog.
Posted on: Sat, 12 Jul 2014 13:05:19 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015