You fishin'?

A little Alaskan vignette:

Setting:
The day I wrote the crescent harbor poem, I was clambering on the rocks that form a barrier for the harbor. One side is harbor, the other side is the mouth of a stream with a salmon hatchery at the mouth of it. Late September is the time of year that 2 or 3 year old pink salmon come home to the stream of their birth place, spawn, and die, so this stream beside the harbor was entirely full of salmon struggling upstream.

Cast of characters:
Hundreds of salmon,
Eileen, journal and book in tow
a Local Boy, a 9 year old kid (barefoot and in sweats)
a Less Exuberant Buddy,
and a Third Boy in a bright orange rain slicker.

Eileen slowly picks her way across the harbor rocks. Local boy is scampering up and down the bank of the stream, bare foot, his sweat pants soaked. His friend, still wearing his shoes, is reluctantly lingering farther up the bank.

Local boy: "Hey, you goin' fishin'?"
Eileen is taken aback. He was talking to her, but how could she be fishing? She doesn't have a pole, or any fishing gear to speak of.
Eileen: "No, not today. You?"
Local boy: "Yeah! I'm going to get some!"

Mystified, Eileen continues picking her way along the rocks, on a mission for poetic solitude, not knowing what to think of this friendly little boy.

Time passes, then Eileen returns from a more lonely perch on the outer rocks, to satisfy her curiosity.

Less Exuberant Buddy: "Hey, I'm going home now."
Local Boy: "Just wait for me, okay? I'm going to get just one. Just one fish, okay?
Less Exuberant Buddy shrugs his shoulders in acquiescence. The Local Boy continues his running monologue about how he is going to get himself a fish. Eileen is fascinated as he grabs a scrap of net and flings it into the stream at the fish.
The Local Boy starts walking out on a cement waterfall thing, with a knotch for the fish to jump up. A light bulb appears over his head.
Local boy: Hey! Hey! If we put this net over this spot, we could get a fish! Hey come over here! look!
Less Exuberant Buddy joins the hunt, grabbing the other side of the scrap of net, about the size of an over-loved baby blanket. They hold it over the knotch and get a fish, as it jumps straight up into the net.

Local Boy: Yeeeeaahh!!!
After a triumphant, wiggly hoist up into the air, the Local Boy lets the fish go.
Local Boy: Okay, just one more? I think we can get one with a big rock!
He flings the net aside, and goes on a hunt for a big rock. Third Boy clomps up the bank, in his orange rain slicker and navy blue boots.
Local Boy: "Hey! Wanna go fishing? We caught one with a net, now we're getting them with rocks!"
Whoosh, PLUNK, splash splash as the salmon swim furiously away.
Whoosh PLUNK, splash splash splash splash.
Local Boy wades in, grasps a semi-stunned wriggling salmon and hoists it up high, exuberant until he notices that it lacks the hump male pink salmon wear on their back.
Local Boy: "EEEEEEWWW! Its a GIRL. Look.
Less Exuberant Boy and Third Boy: "Eeeeeeew! Gross."

***********************
I guess boys will be boys?
Silly me, thinking a pole and a hook were necessary components for fishing. :)