He Kept It To Himself

The iPhone lights up again with “want to do the South Fork tomorrow”,. I reply, “yep. When and where”. “Come to my place at 7:00”. “Awesome”, was the final reply.

The day would came early if I was to be timely in the morning. Set the alarm for 5:30, but woke before it went off, was looking forward to meeting up with Taylor and friends for a day’s float the South Fork.

Pulling into Victor, looking for a place to grab a bite now and something for lunch later, the place was still asleep, except for the gas station, and it was packed with the usual crowd waiting in line to pay for cups of coffee for the drive over the pass and lunch for later.. I drove to the end of town, did a u-turn, then back again. noticed lights on in a bakery and deli on the north end of town, must have opened after I passed a few minutes before.

Entering the place, the aroma of freshly baked goods filled the place. The door was wide open, lights on, but no one in sight. Walked around the counter and peered in the back as a guy in apron muscling large trays with hot golden rolls into slots on a tall rack shouted, “I’ll be right with you, I have a delivery I need to make this morning. Be right with you”.

Wiping his hands on the end of the apron, he peered over the meat counter and asked, “where you fishing today”.  “South Fork”, I offered. From his accent it was obvious he was not indigenous to the Valley. Big smile on his face, eager to tell of his big one that took him to the backing last week, he asked from where did I come, we exchanged more info, from which I learned he was a Jersey boy and I shared I just acquired a small place not too far from there.

There are several types of fly fishermen. One is secretive and holds things close to the vest, then there are those who get so amped that they are all too willing to effuse about every experience they ever had fly fishing. The Jersey guy was the later. While he was slicing and spreading he occasionally looked up asking if I wanted peppers or horseradish with swiss or provolone, but went right back to describing in detail everything that occurred while hooking and playing the big on he hooked last week. Hearing him go on, I sensed an opportunity and delicately asked, “what part of the river did you hook up”, I held in anticipation as he began to form the words when he caught himself. a bit self consciously, and said, “Oh, Ah, just below the Husky put in”. He saved himself. True to the code, he pulled himself back from the brink, he came so close to disclosing the most sacred of information to a fellow brother. He kept the secret secure. He kept it to himself.

After nearly spilling the beans, he reached over the counter to place in my outstretched hand a sandwich the size of a large grapefruit wrapped in white butcher paper with the end of the paper secured by white tape. Nice touch, I thought. The weight of all of it was noticeable as I took back two bucks from a ten dollar bill. Thanks was offered and he shouted in that eastern accent, as he turned back to slide more trays of warm rolls into another slot on a tall rack, “tight lines, buddy”.