Savoring a High Flow

My heart sank, my mind went blank.

River's been running high
day and night,
heavy storms
filling reservoirs,
pressure building
behind old dams.

So, the powers that be
turn some knobs
or pull some levers
or maybe just flick a switch
or 'click here'
and release torrents of water 
screaming out 
from behind the dams, 
the river racing by
flat and slick as glass, 
flows soaring higher
overnight.

Mt. Shasta from the Lower Sacramento River, Redding, CA, January 13, 2026.

Fish move to the banks
and to pockets 
of softer, slower water,
the mergansers 
and bullhead ducks
stick to quieter eddies
along grassy edges
as goldeneyes whistle by
before gliding to a stop
in spots of calm water 
then dive to find 
their next meal
of mollusks or fry.

The Holy Ones
keep an eye
on us all from high 
upon Mt. Shasta
that's covered with snow
above 5,000 feet,
a serene, gleaming presence
seemingly just an arm's reach
away.

My eyes dart
from mountain 
to ducks 
to quiet water
just as my fly line
goes tight.

I set hard,
sinking the hook
into the boney jaw
of something I can't see
but feel the strong tug
and violent head shake
of a wild trout
on the other end.

My heart pounds
as the fish races
toward faster water
in the middle of the river,
riping line from my reel
as I hold the fish tight
but let him run.

The racing line 
burns the bottom
of my finger
as I keep pressure 
on it, the fish 
occassionally shaking 
its head, refusing 
to acquiesce.

This is why we're here,
drifting along 
on a big unruly river
in an insanely high flow
on a chilly morning
in mid January,
chasing elusive trout
who are sucking down
salmon eggs suspended 
in the frigid water.

As if called home
by some law of nature,
the fish turns upstream,
leans into the current
and powers on 
like a runaway train,
riping line off my reel
and out of my hands 
at will.

It darts again
toward the middle 
of the river, shakes 
and abruptly turns
back upstream.

My line goes slack,
he spit me out
and went back 
to swimming free,
leaving me wanting.

My heart sinks,
my mind goes blank.

My eyes catch 
a glimpse of Mt. Shasta
looming in the distance,
blanketed in pristine snow,
a glowing beacon
reminding me 
why I'm here.

So, I take a breath
and savor that exhilerating initial tug
and cherish the brief time
I was directly connected 
to that beautiful little piece
of this giant, wild, unpredictable world,
and let go.

The thrill will fade,
the memory 
will last forever!