A heatwave, warned all the weather specialists! And to top off the warming of the climate, I laid an egg in the form of a mediocre drawing representing a woman drinking directly from a jug. The legend of this horror is: “Fuck the heatwave!”
But in spite of the Hiroshimesque sun, the fish were generous and played with me like children in a playground during recess. Little ones: very plentiful, medium sized: less plentiful, the big ones: well, one big one!
I returned home filled with joy. I have to say that, for several days, the fishing had been miserable. I even thought of selling all of my fishing gear for a pittance and taking up billiards or poker at “Cafe of Friends” in the next village. But these sinister thoughts were long gone when I told my lovely wife about exploits of the day.
I embellished, perhaps, the quantity and the size of the fish that I caught and released! Chubs and Barbel big like swiss bankers, multi-colored carps…
My wife, used to my lies, laughed heartily. Ah! We drank glasses of a cold, good white wine to celebrate my divine day of fishing.
Of course the next day I returned, parked my motorcycle close to my spot that is as beautiful as a birthday cake and hurried to my rock which is in the middle of the river. I stopped to catch my breath and readied to cast my fly to the spot where there should be a big fish when I heard, indistinct yelling upstream beyond the bend. The yelling quickly grew in volume and bloody hell, I see hundreds (perhaps thousands) of canoes which sent shivers up my spine. Attila and his Huns are just a sham next to these unleashed tourists. This was the A7 motorway of canoes.
I had completely forgotten that today is the first day of summer vacation and the entire world had descended on my river, just to irritate me.
“Papa, look… a fisherman in the middle of the river.”
“He’d be well advised to get outta here, the jerk, that’s what I think.”
I quit the river at nightfall, grumbling like a kid who had his toys stolen.
On the return home, I prayed to God to do something to get rid of these tourists. OMG… I put my heart into the prayers. Dear God… if you do this for me I’ll light a candle in the church at Beaulieu, what am I saying… I’ll light an entire box of expensive candles to thank you. What’s more. churches are not my cup of tea, you should know that.
The next day, you can be sure, I returned to my river but my heart was pounding, anguish on my face.
When I arrived near the camp ground of “Aloha Beach” dozens and dozens of campers were standing at the rivers edge and not one had put a toe in the water. To my astonishment, it seems that when I left the river the night before it was black and today, in the bright sunshine the color had not changed a hair, it was still the same black, like the ink of squid. I’d never seen anything like it, even in my dreams of alcoholic delirium.
No more tourists splashing around, not a single canoe!
Were my prayers were answered, or what?
In front of the eyes of an astonished public, I mounted my fishing rod, climbed on MY ROCK and started to pull out, without stopping, a whole bunch of fish of legendary size which, at the moment of releasing the fish into the water, they smiled at me and murmured “Well done my Flèche! One will be able dabble in the water with out the risk of pummeled by oars, finally.”