Like some antlered creature of the depths, the alder bush shuddered as the river’s current forced it back and ever downward. Suddenly it knifed forward with an effervescent ZZZZZZ, ripping ephemeral wounds in the glassy surface of the river. Immediately the river took hold and drove the quivering boughs back down and again they shot forward as if protesting some indignity.
"Sawyers," observed the older of the three men sitting on the leviathan-like back of a riverside boulder. "They’ll keep up that struggle ‘til the river drops."
"Uh-huh," responded one of the other men.
The older man looked down at the flotsamprint several feet from where the river now ran. He saw an undulating perimeter of pine straw, limbs, and leaves.
" Looks like it was higher last night," he remarked to the others.
"Uh-huh."
A blue-gray coated bird flew by, its rattling call and loping flight interrupted as it suddenly veered away at the sight of the men sitting on the boulder. It took a short deviation through the woods but quickly returned to the clear airway that followed the path of the river. Its reflection skimmed along several feet below.
"Kingfisher," said the older man. "Now that’s a bird for you; never very far from the river. It’ll fly back downstream after awhile; they always do."
"Uh-huh."
The man sidled his eyes at the four elfin boats lying at the river’s edge.
"Have any trouble getting into those?" he asked.
"Nope."
The man twisted a long gray curl between his fingers then pulled it down to see if it would reach his nose. He watched as a miniature tempest of spring-hatch whirled over the surface of the river.
"Say, what’s the best river you’ve ever been on--your favorite?" he asked.
"Oh, man, that’s a tough one. Hmmm . . . It’s gotta be the Middle Fork of the Boomer! Nice play holes and big glassy waves you can flatspin on ‘til you blow lunch! Six miles of freestyle city!"
SMACK! went the high five.
"But wait, dude, you’re forgetting about Black Ankle Creek . . . sheeze -- Easy Street droppin’ at three hundred feet a mile and then it gets way serious! Better not plumb your boof when you get down to Damnation Alley!"
SMACK! went the high five.
"But, man, what about the Big Fork Gorge? Last fall I got a freewheel off Mondo Horrendo . . . got torped at the bottom but it was worth it!"
SMACK! went the high five.
"Hey! You’re forgetting--"
WHYYY-WHYYY-WHYYY . . . They turned their heads toward the sound of a vehicle laboring up the narrow road. An old Jeep with molting colors ground to a halt and two men got out.
"Looks like my buddies are back, " said the older man. "You guys have a good one." He turned and walked to where his boat and two others lay.
"Hey! You never did tell us your favorite river," said one of the men still sitting on the boulder.
He paused and looked downstream to where fingers of mist beckoned above a small horizon line. He smiled as he turned and replied:
"This one . . . the next one."
A small shadow draped his face for an instant. He looked up and saw a kingfisher. It was flying downstream.