“Ahhhhh, I really don’t wanna go, Urban.” said Urban’s best friend and saltwater flyfishing affectionado AP. “Don’t take offense, but catching freshwater fish just doesn’t put a bend in the rod, ya’ know? Not like my kind of fishing.””Is that so?” responded the Angler, fiddling with his vise and getting his fly-tying materials read for a tying session.

“Well, yeah …… at least here in Florida. I mean, I haven’t caught Steelhead or Atlantic Salmon, so I can’t be 100% about all this, but for us here in the Deep South, yeah, I’d have to say freshwater fish pull ……. crappie” AP said with a laugh, pleased at his own pun.

“Tell you what, AP, just come back by the house and pick me up tomorrow morning around 8am — I’ll leave QuickSilver in the garage for this trip — and we’ll take a ride and see …… I’ll even spring for breakfast”.

“Damn, that makes it tempting now …. OK, I’ll come by to get ‘cha. What are we fishing for? Don’t want to hurt these fish — do I bring a 1wt?” he said with a chuckle. “I don’t even own something that light”.

“Bring a 5wt with a sink-tip because of the depth and current, and I’ll tie us up the flies we need tonight. Wear clothes you won’t mind getting a bit muddy and wet” said Urban, secretly pleased at the now-puzzled expression on AP’s face when he mentioned the fishing conditions.

AP nodded and gathered up his coat and keys and departed from the Angler’s home. Urban settled back down at the vice and begun tying a dozen or so flies like this ….

———————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

Shortly after 8:00am Urban and AP were sitting at their breakfast table enjoying some scrabled eggs, ham, sausage patties and pancakes with syrup. “Gotta say, Urban, I’m usually on the water over an hour ago so I always miss breakfast like this … sure is good. Even better with you paying!” he said with a laugh. “But where are we going and what are we fishing for?”

“Don’t worry about the details, AP, I’ll direct you ….. and you’ll have to wait and see what we’ll be catching. ”

After finishing up and paying their bill, they got into AP’s truck and Urban directed AP to drive east for a bit. After a while, they crossed a bridge over big water, and Urban then had AP turn down a side road that seemed to parallel the water they just crossed. On and on went the road, finally pavement ending and turning into crushed limestone. After a couple of miles, Urban said “turn in here to the right” and they followed a small trail that finally made it’s way out of the woods and to wide open country. Not a tree in site — in fact this was pasture land — and in the distance AP saw water. “Just head that way until you can’t any more” said Urban, and a minute later they were parked next to the banks of the river. The bank was only a few feet above the water, and AP could see how the river wound back and forth through the land here, creating oxbow turns and corkscrew twists.

“Let’s go ahead and get rigged up; we have to walk about a half mile down to one of the better spots”. Urban tossed AP one of the flies, and AP let out a groan.

“Mighty small fly there, Urban. I know big fish eat peanuts, but sheesh!”

Urban ignored the last comment, assembled his fly rod and tied on his fly. “Let’s go — this way” and he started walking down the banks of the river.

After just a couple of steps, he now knew why Urban had talked about “getting muddy” the night before. The thick, black soil was covered in a thin layer green grass, but just beneath it was soaked with water, and it was hard to tell what exactly was dry land and what was a bog ready to suck the shoe right off your foot.

“A little help, Urban” said AP after a partiularly nasty bog sank his right leg to mid-calf. “Is it much further? — I’m a mess”.

“Right at this bend” said Urban after extracating AP from the muck.

Together they stood at a bend in the river system. Water flowed west and then north agan around this bend, with the far shoreline about two cast-lengths away. You could see current, and felt that the waters ran deep here as well.

“OK, just cast out parallel to the current as far out as you can, and let the fly sweep around …… Start your retrieve three-quarters of the way downstream. Just give short little jerks ……… and we’ll see what happens”.

AP and Urban spread out and began to cast. “Well, one nice thing about this place” thought AP “is you sure don’t have to worry abut your backcast!”. He dropped the fly into the water and let it swing with the current …… and felt a little tap. Not sure if he had a strike, he raised up the rod tip, and sure enough he felt weight at the end of his line. Stripping it in, he saw a small, green-and-black speckled fish attached.

“First fish” called out AP “and I’m not sure I can land him — I need help” he added dryly. “Urban, this guy barely bent the rod. Is this what we are after?”

“Just keep casting” said Urban, frowning a little.

AP unhooked the speck and released him back into the current. He made a few more casts … nothing …….. and was about to say something to AP about dead water and blind-casting when he felt a sold “thwack” on the flyline. Instinctively he set the hook, and he was fast to a powerful fish! “Urban, I got something good here!!”

The fish pulled hard, running upcurrent but AP did not want to give the fish any line. Moments later, he felt the line go slack. “Damn, rat bastard got off.” Urban called over, “Gotta be a bit more gentle — tender mouths”.

AP was going to call back to ask what kind of fish has tender mouths that pull that hard, but intead cast out again. At the end of the drift, as he started to strip back in he felt a “ka-pow” on his line as he was fast to another fish!! “Another one!” he cried, and this time remembering to give a little line when the fish pulled hard. “Wow, nice fight in this fish – look at my rod” thought AP. After several back-and-forth runs, AP was able to see the fish in the tannic water. Pulling it close and then scooping it up, he held it up to to show Urban. “I got ’em, Urban. She’s about 3 lbs, but what a fight!! Is this what I think it is?”

“Yeah” shouted Urban, who’s rod was also bent over in a cresent. “Alosa Sapidissima … American Shad. There’s a winter run of these fish up the St. Johns. You never know exactly if the run is going to go off, but when it does ……….”

AP was already casting, and the second cast produced another strong strike. This time the fish came to the surface and jumped clear of the water “Oh my Gawd, he thinks he’s a tarpon” shouted AP ” …… and he fights as hard as one too” he thought to himself.

Over the next two hours, Urban and AP caught fish until they quit counting. AP was amazed at the strength of these fish. “They slam a fly like a snook, pull like a redfish, and jump like a tarpon” he thought quietly to himself. “Man this is more fun than …….” as another fish slammed the fly, went aerobatic, and began pulling again against his rod ………………………………..

—————————————————————————————————————–

On the drive home, AP drove with a satisfied look on his face and his mind was replaying the day.

“Take it back” said Urban quietly with a smile.

“Uhh — what’d ya say?” said AP, shaken out of his reviere.

“Take back what you said about freshwater fish yesterday” said Urban with even a bigger grin.

AP smilled and nodded. “You got me Urban. I take it back. I can’t tell you the last time I had so much fun catching fish. Those guys pull HARD! And they jump like tarpon! Boy, that was great!!”

Urban smiled.

A little later, AP was still thinking about the day and the shad when he shouted “Wait!! I take it back again!!!”

“What?” said Urban. “Youre taking it back again that freshwater fish can’t fight like saltwater fish?”

“You’re a sneaky one, Urban, but I know that the American Shad spends most of it’s life in the ocean before coming into fresh water to spawn. So technically this is a salt walter fish” AP said pointing at Urban. “So I was correct the first time”.

“No, no, no” said Urban. “We caught him in fresh water. So technically, it’s a freshwater catch and fish”. And with that Urban turned and looked straight into AP’s eyes. “So you have to take it back again!”

It was quiet for a few moments ……………

Then both AP and Urban began to laugh together …………………………

“What am I gonna do?” the Angler asked himself. “I just picked it up. Now it’s… it’s …. it’s ……. just gone! Urban sat down in silence and nearly in tears, being soaked by rain. What remained from the brand-new rod was some thread, the guides, the cork handle and the reel seat. The reel itself was laying in the mud. Everything else had vanished.

——————————————————————————————————————————-

It all started with the rod.

Urban had just taken delivery on a new rod from his rod-building friend nicknamed “Da’Wand”. Wand was somewhat of a legend in and among the local fly-fishing cosignotti, as he designed and turned out fly rods of unsurpassed beauty and execution. There was fierce debate among some of the more-knowledgeable casters that Da’Wand was doing something really “different” to get the results he did. What exactly that was none was sure ….

Urban had been introduced to Wand through his saltwater friend, AP. AP had a close relationship with Wand, as he was infamous for breaking a fly rod in all kinds of manners (“But it wasn’t my fault!!” he’d claim “I wasn’t even near it this time!! It’s a conspiracy!!”). Suffice to say, AP was Wand’s best customer. Through AP, Urban had put in a special request for Wand to build him a new, ultra-lightweight fly rod capable of casting incredibly small flies long distances. Wand was up for the task, saying “I know just want you need, Urban — I’ve been working on a secret new blank formula: stronger than carbon fibre, lighter than boron, faster than bottled lightning. This new stuff, when used to create a wand, it will change your life forever, my Brother! Amen to that!!” he said with a laugh. “But the material is hard to come by ……. ” and a furrowed brow and a frown came over his face.

“What’s it called, the new stuff?” asked the Angler. Dropping his gaze and lowering his voice Da’Wand whispered: “I call it ….. Unobtanium!!”

Urban put in his order right then and there.

It had taken three months of agonizing wait for Wand to craft the rod. Da’Wand would say “Not yet, Urban … it takes time, my Brother, to craft Unobtanium into perfection of length and weight, proportion and speed and balance. But it’s coming along nicely …..”. Finally the day came and a call from Wand had Urban excitedly pedaling Quicksilver over to Da’Wand’s residence to pick up his new stick.

When Wand answered the door and saw Urban, he broke into a grin and said “C’mon in. I think you’ll find it worth the time you waited, Urban. Wait until you see it! I have to say, I may have outdone myself on this one” and he reached back around the door corner and brought out a rod sock. Untying the bow, he slowly drew out the two-piece rod, assembled it, and handed it slowly over to Urban.

“Hope you don’t mind the color” said Wand, while Urban could only stare in wonderment at the sight in front of him. Finally finding his voice, he said “Mind? It’s beautiful!!”. And indeed it was, a unique pearl-white translucent shine made the rod appear as if it was it was made of half-moonlight and half misty fog. The cork handle was done in bands of dark and light, and with the silver and black thread wrapping the guides stood out from the rod color, but complemented it at the same time. “The unobtainium can vary blank color” said Wand, “and each batch kinda finds it’s own hue and patina. But I have to say, this one is unique”.

Wand went on to say, “Now Urban, watch this!” And he held the rod out at arm’s length, and dropped it!!! The rod slowly dropped from Wand’s hand and drifted towards the floor, finally settling in onto the carpet like a feather. “See, this unobtainium is feather-light. But the rod is strong, almost stronger than ol’ AP can handle….” he said with a twisted smile. Urban thanked Da’Wand and paid him (dearly!) for the rod, and rushed it home. He mounted his new ultra-lightweight reel (not made of unobtanium, he mused), strung the rod, and then slipped outside for some test casts.

It was all that Da’Wand had promised — the rod was amazing. Tight loops, long casts, and no effort!! Urban was casting well into the backing, making roll casts, Belgian casts, parachute casts, mend casts, and curve casts. Double-hauling produced casts of prodigious lengths, and with accuracy. Best of all it was taking next to no push. The rod was doing all the work; Urban might as well have not been there.

As he was casting at his local retention pond, who would drive up in his old battered pickup other than AP, Urban’s saltwater-fishing friend. AP got out of his truck and came down to the water’s edge. He didn’t say anything for a whole minute (that was unusual!) and then let out a long sigh. Urban looked over at him, but continued casting.

Still not looking directly at Urban and staring out into the water, AP sighed again and said “I see you have a new rod. Unobtanium?”

Urban stopped casting for a moment and looked at AP. “Yes ….. got it today from Da’Wand. It’s incredible!”

“It’s cursed”.

“What?!?!”

“It’s cursed, man. I know.”

“What are you talking about!?!”

“I’m talking about the Unobtanium. Did he tell you what happened to me?”

“No. What happened?”

“What always happens. To me. Will to you too. Do me a favor, Urban. Resist. Resist the urge. OK? Can you do that?? Can you??”

“Sssssure thing, buddy. I’m putting the rod up now” said Urban, kinda confused by AP’s rambling speech.

” OK. Good. Just resist, OK? And maybe it won’t happen.” Another sigh. “Guess I’d better go … just wanted to tell you”. And AP looked at the rod, then back at Urban — his eyes full of sadness — and then he turned around, got back into his car and left.

“That was weird” thought the Angler to himself. “I wonder what got into AP?”

———————————————————————————————————————————-

That night, when Urban went to bed, he had powerful dreams. He was casting his new rod, and it was talking to him!! “Cast!! Cast!!!!” it would say, and Urban responded with shooting more line into his backcast. He has making casts of ridiculous lengths, but Urban was placing the fly exactly where it needed to be …….. and the rod was still talking to him “Again!!! Cast!!!” “Again!!!!” …..

Then everything dissolved and spun while a bleating alarm clock woke Urban from his dream. “Wow” thought Urban as he got out of bed and begun putting on his fishing attire, ” that was a strange dream. Never had a rod speak to me before …….” but he quickly forgot about the dream and focused on getting ready to go fishing.

Today would be the first time he would take his new rod out, and he knew just the place to give it a go. The old Miller plantation had a large pond located on it, and the pond, back in the day, had been stocked with fish. Over time the best fishing locations shifted from the shoreline out to a island situated near the middle of the pond. Urban had seen the size of the bass beds near the island, and often saw the school of over-sized bream and tilapia that cruised in and out of the grass-and-sand bottom. But it was too far a cast to get a fly anywhere near the island ….until today, Urban though ….

Mounting up on Quicksilver (the Urban Assault Vehicle), the Angler pedaled his way towards the old Plantation pond, taking in the sights as he went. The weather forecast was not promising — there was supposed to be a front coming through that would produce wind and rain — but nothing was going to deter Urban today. “I’ll cast right through the wind today!” he said to himself and smiled. “No problemo with this magic wand!”

By the time Urban got to the old Miller plantation, the sky had lost all of it’s blue and had gone misty grey. The winds had picked up too — not uncastable, but they were definitely putting ripples on the pond’s surface. Securing Quicksilver to a nearby tree, the Angler made his way down to the shoreline of the pond. Assembling his rod, he once again noticed it’s beauty — it almost seemed to be glowing in the half-light overcast day. “I’m looking for Bass today” said the Angler “no bream or tilapia this time”. And he tied on a large minnow pattern ( a Bendback Beadbutt Baitfish to be exact – dressed in white and olive with some black dashes and a little flash, and the ever-present red bead at the butt) that AP had given him a while back ( AP only tied flies with exotic names or materials, and it usually had some rabbit fur somewhere on the pattern — that was his signature).

Urban was a bit concerned with the size and the weight of the fly, but he shouldn’t have been, as the flyrod acted as if the fly wasn’t even there. His first cast sailed forward, quartering against the wind, and landed 50 feet out in the pond. “Dang! Did I just make that cast, or did Lefty Kreh?” said the Angler. “Yes, I think it was me!!” he laughed. And indeed, cast after cast was effortlessly made, even against an increasingly active wind.

For the next thirty minutes or so, the Angler enjoyed making all kinds of casts into the pond, each one prettier than the next. While not getting any strikes, he availed himself to the wonders of how effortlessly he was able to make cast after cast. But now the cold front was almost upon Urban, and the first drops of heavy rain were making rings on the surface of the pond. “Almost time to go ….” he said to himself, but that is when he saw her.

Her, because in the Bass world only females get to be that big. Urban caught sight of a yellowish sand hole way out in the pond, and had seen a large shape swirl around that hole. Intuitively, he thought “bass chasing tilapia” but what had caught him off guard was the size of the shadow. He squinted, and again caught a glimpse of the impressive dark shadow circling the sandy bottom. Urban had seen 15lb. bass before (in the aquarium at Bass Pro Shops), and this shadow looked larger!! She had chosen a spot on the lake that no one could cast to or reach …. “until today”, thought the Angler.

By now, the cold front’s leading edge was driving the rain down harder, and the winds were blowing directly into Urban’s face. No matter, since Urban began his false-casting he could feel the rod come alive in his hands. The dark clouds were ominous, but Urban ignored everything except the timing of the cast. Back …forth (Cast!! he thought he heard) …back …….. forth (Again!!!), each time extending more and more line, back, and he double-hauled for the final forward cast (CAST!!!!!!!!) ………………………..

CRASH!!!! BA-BOOOOOOOMM !!!!!!!!!!!!

Urban was knocked off his feet and momentarily stunned. There was a cloud of …. something around him that quickly blew away. And that’s when he saw ….what was left of his new rod. Not the rod, but just the parts that had been attached to the rod. The rod had disappeared, and the reel was sitting at his feet, in the water and mud. Urban shook himself, and then gathered up all the remaining parts ….

——————————————————————————————————————————————————-

AP was sitting on Urban’s front porch when the Angler peddled up to his house, dirty, soggy-wet and carrying a small plastic bag of parts ….

“The Missus said you went fishing” said AP and then looking at the bag said softly “looks like you couldn’t resist either”.

“What are you talking about, AP? I was struck by lightning!!”

“No, my amigo, you were cursed by the Unobtanium”

“What curse? I was casting to the biggest bass I had ever seen, when ….”

“No Urban, there are no bass in the Miller Plantation lake”

“What!?!?! No, I saw it — It was huge, over 15lbs easy!!”

“So did I, only it was a bonefish that would have weighed 20 lbs or more”

Urban looked at AP all confused, and AP continued, “It was out on the Lagoon. It was almost dark, a full moon was up, and I was about to paddle back in, when I saw the tail come out of the water — 5 feet of water! The tail was as big as a industrial broom ……. I thought it was a shark, then a big red, then I caught a glimpse, and it was a damn Bonefish!! Did I tell you I had Da’Wand make me a 10wt rod of Unobtanium? No? I did ….. and the rod was like nothing I had cast before; so perfect — you know what I’m saying …. anyway, so the bonefish turned, and when I got a look at the size of the wake it was making, it was like a miniature submarine …. it turned and started moving away from me …. I had to make a cast, quick … a long, long cast that had to lead the fish perfectly, but I knew this rod could do it, and when I made the cast “BOOM” everything disappeared and the reel fell into the bottom of the KAYAK ….

Urban shook his head …. “AP, you were mistaken — there aren’t any bonefish in the Lagoon. Too far north”.

AP replied “I know ….. but did you know that the Miller’s had chemically treated their pond about 2 months ago and killed off all of the fish? They were tired of people fishing their pond, and then leaving their trash behind. So they wiped everything out of the pond with rotenone. There are now no fish left there.”

“None? But I saw …………”

“I know …..” said AP and sighed. “I saw too, and made the biggest cast I ever made, and now I have nothing to show for it …… except a bag like yours”.

Urban sat down, stunned with the news he’d just been given.

“Damnedest thing though …” said AP, “all the time I was casting, I swear I could hear the rod talking to me …..”

———————————————————————————————————————————————————————————–

Da’Wand built replacement rods for both AP and Urban, telling them how he also had found out about the fatal flaw of Unobtanium. “Yeah, it was too good to be true …” sighed Da’Wand, “when it hits that perfect vibration point, it amplifies through the entire rod and each molecule fails at the same moment, and the rod explodes into powder”.

“Just curious ……” said AP, “but where did you get the Unobtanium?”

“Now that’s a funny story ……” said Wand. “I get it from a fish I catch”

“Huh?” said both Urban and AP simultaneously.

“Yeah ….. this sounds strange, but I go fishing down at this bridge, and I catch the same fish over and over each time. And when I do, it always coughs up a pellet of this stuff…… shiny, hard and ….. well, then I let the fish go. But I always catch him again.”

“Well what ever possessed you to use this to build rods with?” asked AP.

“Well, when it coughs up the pellet, it makes a sound like “Build!” “Build!!”. I know that sounds strange, but that’s what the fish is saying to me ….”

Urban thought a moment and asked “Say Wand, what does the fish look like?”

Da’Wand replied ” I don’t know …weird. Like a cross between a black bass and a bonefish”.

AP and Urban just looked at each other and gulped …………………………………

“Oh Jeez!!” said the Urban Angler to himself as he was vaulted up and over the handlebars of Quicksilver, the Urban Assault Vehicle. “Ya’ know, I bet this won’t end pretty” he thought, and then marveled at how time had slowed down such that he was able to have these clear, concise thoughts moments before disaster would strike.

It had started out innocently enough. The trail, starting down to the creek, was a bit rough, but wide and hard-packed. There was little sand to cause any concerns. Farther down, the trail shrunk in width and also pitched steeper, making for an adrenaline-laced run to the bottom, where the trail once again opened up into a wide, softer-sanded shoreline next to the moving water of the creek.

The creek, while somewhat difficult to get to (both in distance and in the approach) was a location that harbored large red-breasted sunfish and the occasional bass. The cool creek water was especially nice during the warm summer months; it seemed to be something that the redbreasts liked. The gentle current allowed Urban to toss his soft, white-and-yellow foam spiders up and underneath the overhanging brush. The current carried it downstream, until a “slurp” and a disappearing spider indicated a take. “This is as close as you’re gonna get to real dry-fly Trout fishing here in Florida” thought the Angler.

The approach down to the creek was always an adventure. But Urban had run it enough times to know where to guide Quicksilver: what side of the gully to ride down, where to jump the rock or limb that lay half-buried in the path. Indeed, it was part of the thrill to come to this place; to test your skill and nerve to ride down at-pace, one hand on the wheel, the other holding your gear. And, of course, once you were there, the fishing was generally excellent.

The night before, thunderstorms had dumped a large amount of rain in the area. Urban went to bed that night planning his trip in the morning with the thinking that the rain would have swollen the creek and made for a bit faster of a current flow. “Those red-breasts like a little current” he said to himself as he set the alarm for o-dark-thirty. “If I get there early, it should be optimum”. Right before falling asleep, his wife told him “Be back home early — you have chores. Need to clean out the gutters and then mow the lawn. Don’t forget!”

Before you knew it, the alarm was bleating it’s call; he reached over to turn it off before Ms. Angler woke up. He dressed quickly, gathered up his gear and went out into the garage to saddle up Quicksilver. While still dark, he started on his way to the creek, yawning and pedaling. After about an hour, he arrived at the top of the creek. It was still a bit dark — the sun had not yet fully crept over the horizon — but Urban heard the gurgle of the creek and could not wait.

Down he plunged into the trail, gaining speed. Urban’s excitement of getting to the creek turned to mild concern as he raced down. The creeks trees and shrubs effectively blocked most of the early light, so it was dark heading downward towards the creek. Mild concern grew into panic; he almost missed the second turn, recovered, over-corrected on the next, got the front wheel a little off-line and his weight off the seat when a previously-hidden root now exposed after the hard rains of the the night before, momentarily blocked forward progress. Inclined downward as he was, there was only one place for Urban to go — up and over the handlebars.

It was, as Urban reflected afterwards, a spectacular crash.

Urban had just enough time to unload his flyrod from his left hand and push it away from his body. His hope was that it would miss Quicksilver and land among the brush without breaking. He somersaulted in mid-air, and then landed with a “Ooouumph!!!!” on his back and right shoulder. Quicksilver flipped up and over and landed right next to Urban — fortunately not on him he thought to himself. After a few moments, the pain kicked in — his shoulder and elbow hurt from the impact. Sitting up, still a bit dizzy from the spill, he checked himself for other crash-rash. His shirt was torn on his sleeve, and he felt some scratches on his knee, but it was his shoulder and elbow that had taken the brunt of the impact, and they both hurt like hell. “Damn” said Urban, “that was bad and it could have been worse. Let me see how Quicksilver fared …” and he shifted over to where the Urban Assault Vehicle lay in the trail. He noted the front rim of the bike was now shaped a bit like a twisted taco. “Gonna be a long walk home with Quicksilver hobbled like this” he said to himself. He got up, dusted himself, and walked over to his flyrod, mentally crossing his fingers. The rod lay partially on the trail and partially in the brush. Picking it up and inspecting, Urban saw no breaks. “Thank goodness for that” he thought. He then gathered everything up, and marched the rest of the way down to the creek.

Once at the bottom, Urban began taking stock of his situation. It was still early in the morning — most people were still getting out of bed about this time. His shoulder hurt and his right elbow had begun to swell a bit. No way he was going to be able to fish ……… or could he? Maybe he’d have to cast left-handed. Could he do that?

Urban gingerly strung together the fly rod, tied on a white foam spider, and held the line in his right hand and the rod in his left. He attempted a cast …….. it was not a pretty cast, but it did make it half-way out into the creek, where the fly floated for and instant, and then disappeared with a little “ploop”. Raising the rod set the hook, and a nice red-breast began dancing on the other end. “Well, at least I caught one” thought Urban. He unhooked the little guy, tried a second cast (a little better than the first) and had another strike. Five casts and five fish later, he’d forgotten about the shoulder and elbow and was delighting in the spunky fights the redbreasts were putting up on Urban’s off-hand.

About an hour (and countless sunfish with a small bass thrown in) later, Urban could hear traffic, and decided he’d better leave. His elbow, he noticed, had a knot on it the size of a lemon and his shoulder was stiff and ached. It took him about 20 minutes to get back up the trail and starting on his slow push home. As luck would have it, a truck pulled over in front of him, and out popped AP, his saltwater fishing buddy.

“What the Hell happened you you, Urban?” he said with a look of concern “I’m on my way to grab some breakfast, and then to the Fly Shop to pick up some more rabbit strips for my Zonkers when I saw a bum pushing a bike on the side of the road. Imagine my surprise when I see it’s you! Do you need a ride somewhere?”

“Yeah — home if’n you don’t mind. Need to see about my elbow and shoulder, and see to Quicksilver. As for what happened, what can I say? It’s Close Combat Fishing here in the Urban Jungle, and it ain’t always pretty. However, I did manage about a baker’s dozen fine redbreasts and a small bass, all on topwater — left handed even” he said with a hint of pride.

“Based on that lump on your elbow, you might better get good at casting lefty” said AP. “And your wife is going to be PO’ed at you for not taking your cell phone to call in case of an emergency. Lucky for you I was coming by … .. and how did exactly this happen again, Mr. Jungle-Out-There?” he said with a half-laugh.

Urban winced at the mention of Ms. Angler, who would indeed scold him for not taking his phone. She’d ask him why he didn’t immediately head for home, and instead stayed and fished for over an hour, letting his elbow swell and his shoulder go stiff. And he couldn’t let AP know the whole truth. “Yeah, I know ….. I took the trail back there down to my secret spot a bit and ……… you wouldn’t believe it, there was a Gator lying across the path!!” he said. “At least, I thought it was a Gator — was wearin’ an orange shirt and had on blue Crocs. Could have fallen asleep there after a night of rum-drinking or something” said Urban, laying it on thicker. “Anyway, so I have to bunny-hop this Gator, and now I get crossed up goin’ over, so I spin the handlebars and now I’m going down the trail backwards! I almost make it to the bottom, hit the rear brake, up comes the front wheel and I try a BMX kick flip but the front wheel hits a low branch on the 360 and …… well, you see. But I almost made it …….”

AP is laughing. “I call BS, but I have to say that’s pretty good BS there, Urban. He chuckled again “well, let’s get you home so you can take your whoopin’ like a man” and he loaded the Urban Assault Vehicle in the truck bed and bade Angler to hop in the cab.

As they rode down the street, Urban was quiet and was thinking to himself. “AP, the wife is gonna pitch a fit. I need another story, or else I’ll never hear the end of it … and I got an idea. But I need your help” and then he spoke in quiet whispers about his plan …..

———————————————————————

Around mid-morning, Ms Angler woke up to the sounds of the garage door opening and a call “I’m back, dear, getting the ladder for the gutters”. She knew Urban had left while dark to go fishing — she never really understood why he had to get up so early — but was glad Urban had heard her the night before and was taking care of house projects ( Urban often slipped away while she wasn’t looking). She heard the clatter of the ladder being hoist against the side of the house, and all was quiet for a minute, until …….. CRASH!!!!

Running outside in her bathrobe and slippers she rounds the corner to see Urban sprawled out on the lawn, the ladder fallen off to the side and next to Urban’s bicycle, which was also down on the ground. Urban yells “OUCH!! That hurt!!” and then says “Look at my elbow!” and offers it to Ms. Angler.

She runs over to him to look, and he explains “Dang ladder slipped sideways on me and I landed a bit awkward on my shoulder and elbow. And will you look at that! The ladder hit Quicksilver! It bent her rim! Now that just isn’t right! – what bad luck!!”

Ms. Angler is looking at Urban’s elbow and saying “Will you look at how that bump came up so fast? Urban, you get inside and put some ice on it right now! We’ll clean this up in a bit. I told you to wait for me and I’d hold the ladder — why didn’t you wait? Now you’ve gone and hurt yourself.”

” …. and Quicksilver’s hurt too” said Urban with a small smile. “yes, hon, I’m sorry, I should have waited for you — I just wanted to give you the opportunity to sleep in. I’ll go get an ice wrap to put on this right now …. and I’ll mow later in the day, OK? Let me run in and take a shower now ……” and Urban hurriedly got up and headed for the house.

———————————————————————–

That evening, Urban took the dogs out for their nightly duties and while out placed a quick cell call to AP.

“So how’d it go?” asked AP. “I did like you said — opened the garage door, got the ladder and made some noise. I gave it all to you, and then skedaddled”. Urban explained how he staged the fall.

“And she bought it all. She doesn’t suspect a thing” said Urban.

“Urban, for a guy who’s been married for 20+ years, you still haven’t figured out wives yet, huh? How many other ‘chores’ did you have to do today?”

Urban frowned “A few. I had to finish the gutters, mow and edge, then I had to help with dusting and vacuuming the house. Took her out for some dinner, where she stopped at ‘Shoes for More’ and she picked up a few pairs. I had to pay for everything because she forgot her wallet ……. oh crap!”

AP laughed. “Yep. Think Ms. Angler knows all about Close Combat in the Urban Jungle there too …….. Goodnight, Urban”.

Urban hung up, turned around and looked. Ms. Angler was out on the front porch, trying to look busy with a smile on her face.

All he could do was laugh. He walked back to the door, and said, “Hey, honey, did I tell you about the Gator I saw today? About 6’4, with brown eyes and blue crocs ….” and they headed on inside for the night ……

“I knew it!!” said the Urban Angler to himself, “I knew this place existed!”.

The Urban Angler had just spent the morning staring into his computer while using GoogleEarth to show him potential places to investigate while mounted up on Quicksilver — the Urban Assault Vehicle. Since places had to be within a reasonable biking distance, it was necessary to look at every retention pond, creek, drainage area, and local lake to see if opportunities existed.

Once pinpointed, a reconnaissance mission was mounted to determine viability — that meant several things to the Urban Angler. Was the prospective fishing hole accessible by bike? Was it private property? Was it open to fly-casting? Were there any signs of fish? The latter two questions were of more importance, mused Urban, because there was always places to lock his bike even if not close to the prospective place, and private property was ….. well, let’s just say that fishing the hours of the day that Urban fished meant little chance of meeting with people. Urban’s night maneuvers had taken him to fishing destinations that would never let him close during the day — way too many eyes. The public golf course nearby was a perfect example — crowded by day, but shortly after sundown when it was dark, it was a lonely place — save for Urban. There was excellent fishing there, and as long as he kept out of sight, there had been no complaints, he thought to himself with a smile.

Over time, Urban had collected a half-dozen or so places that were special like that. At night, casting in the shadows with little to no moonlight, the fishing became different. Perceptions changed. Sounds grew louder. The eyes caught every little glimmer of light. Smells were more noticeable. Urban came to believe that to be there, in these places, catching what he did, it was a mystical, almost spiritual experience. To pay homage to the experience, Urban never took home any fish. All were released back into the darkness from which they came. That was his way, and he hoped the Fish Gods were pleased with his decision to do that.

Today, Urban was excited. His map viewing showed him a small creek that started in some woods next to a housing development. The creek wound it’s way south and east, vanishing at a large 10-lane highway. However, on the other side of the highway where the creek disappeared, there was an apartment complex. The area next to the road was shaded by high trees …. but further down the map, the creek suddenly appeared again, wider, and finding it’s way into a nearby lake.

“I bet that creek flows all the way underneath the road, somehow” thought the Angler. “I’m going to go investigate it tonight right around sundown!”.

So when the sun finally slipped beneath the horizon, Urban was trekking on his way mounted up on Quicksilver. He packed a light snack in his bag, and of course had his fly box and trusty 2wt rod and reel. Approximately a half hour later, much darker than when he started out, Urban had reached the highway where the creek disappeared. Dismounting, he began walking the Urban Assault Vehicle down the sidewalk that bordered the road. He soon found what he was looking for — a large culvert from which he could hear water pouring, but it was too dark for Urban to see the details. Off in the distance, through the surrounding woods, Urban could see the lights and outlines of the apartment complex. “Think I’ll ride over there, lock up the bike, and walk back up to this place” he thought to himself.

After securing Quicksilver, Urban slipped into the shadows and immediately picked up the creek. As he walked towards the sounds of the highway, he saw how the creek opened up. Coming out from underneath the highway was a very large concrete culvert. The creek waters came out of the culvert and dropped 10 or so feet into a large holding pool, which itself filtered into another smaller pool, which then became the creek that Urban had followed.

Urban closed his eyes. He could sense the vibe. This place was magical, mystical. No trash, which meant no one frequented this place. A splash in the water told him fish held here. He could smell several different smells — a strange combination of harsh auto fume overpowered by the organic funk of plants and wood and leaves that had sat in wetness for too long. The moon was out, casting filtered light here and there. All of this held hypnotic sway over the Angler, and for a few moments he just sat there, taking it all in ….

Finally, he unstrung his rod, and began casting — casting out into the smaller pool first. Casts were difficult due to the amount of underbrush and plants, but he was successful in getting his fly out into the current, where it swept into the dark eddies of the pool. His line immediately went tight, and Urban was fast to a feisty bass. He brought it in, admired the little beauty, and released it back into the pool. Two more fish came out of the pool, one a little bigger than the first, before Urban moved up to the main pool.

A quick cast, the line drifted, and then started moving against the current. Urban raised up, and all of a sudden his rod bent into a crescent as the fish ran to the other side of the pool and jumped. “Big splash — thing this is a good one!” he thought to himself. Sure enough, after some give-and-take, a nice 5lb bass came to the Angler’s hand; he lifted it in triumph in the moonlight.

“Hey mon — you gonna keep dat?” said a voice from the other side of the pool. “Dat’s a nice on’ – feed me jus’ fine”.

Urban was startled to see a man along the opposite shore. He was dressed in a loose-fitting robe of some kind cinched with a belt that looked more like a wide scarf. Looking closer he could see long dreadlocks spilling out from underneath a knitted cap.

The man said “So, wat you gonna do, mon? Fish can’t live forever”.

Urban replied, slowly “I know ……. it’s just ………..it’s just that ……….. it’s just that there’s something about this place. I know of just a few that are like it. And I know this sounds silly, but when I find places like this, I make a little promise to myself and the place, to never take anything away from it except memories”. And Urban knelt down, and released the bass back into the water. “I sure hope you underst …..”

But the man was gone. Urban looked and listened, and waited for the man to appear again, but after a few minutes determined he was alone. Slightly spooked, he broke down the flyrod, packed up, and slowly began making his way back to the apartments and to his bike. When he got there, he noticed that his bike bag was open.

“Damn — someone’s been into my bag. What did I leave in there?” he thought. A quick survey showed everything still there except for the snack he had brought with him. Left was a small piece of paper with some kind of writing on it.

Bringing it out into the light, Urban could faintly read the scribbled handwriting: “I understan’. Hope’n you do too.”

Urban laughed a good laugh, mounted up, and started pedaling home.