“Get the fish on the reel,” the guide said, picking up his net, moving to my side, letting me know he was just as serious about this as he was when he told me trench foot was a genuine risk up here, even in July.
“That’s a flarkên brook trout?” I asked, or, well, screamed, actually.
“Don’t let it under the boat,” he answered.
Five, ten, fifteen, maybe twenty minutes later, I don’t remember, the fish was in the net, and I was sitting on the casting platform, not remembering how I got there, just trying to stop my hands from shaking.