With three words their worlds changed forever.
Some say it's the way their ID's clashed like badly shifted gears when they fished together. But, the truth is Kaine and April are fraternal twins - brother and sister - and they're the rare kind that look alike.
Today it started over drafts of Bellaire Brown served at Shorts Brewery after a tough day of fishing the Cedar River, trying to pull trout from undercuts along the bank, and from the several eddies that formed where the river bends and the current is broken by dead-falls. They had been successful, but only in the sense of having brought a meager few to net - two rainbows and a creek chub each. It was not as productive as they had hoped. They wanted brook trout.
The banter began with laments of the fishing's "would-have-could-have-should-haves" and progressed to critiquing one-another's choice of flies. It was a typical "blonde" vs "redhead" type of discussion that turned heated, whimsical and finally into a contest to clearly acknowledge the better technique...and, of course, the better piscator.
They talked alike, they cussed alike, they even dressed alike...
Kaine, the "blonde" was adamant that the only way – and best way - to produce trout, was with a dry fly cast to a rising fish. The "redhead", April, scoffed at the puritanical attitude, denouncing it as "a ready-made excuse for someone used to making excuses." Pow!
By the time the fourth round of beer arrived, the discussion had turned into near argument, culminating in a wager for tomorrow’s trip to the Jordan River. A wager to prove whether fishing with a wet fly would produce more and bigger fish than those produced with a dry fly.
The terms of the wager were simple: They would fish the same water at the same time. The bet was for bragging rights, but just to make it interesting, the loser would man the sticks for an entire float trip on the winner’s choice of water in their jointly owned drift boat.
Yep, fraternal twins – and some would even say nearly identical. They talked alike, they cussed alike, they even dressed alike as far as a guy and girl can without seeming like cross-dressers - boy boots, tight jeans, sleeveless cable guy shirts and straw cowboy hats. For both it was more of a comfort thing.
Given their different hair color (which is the same as when they were born), and fly-fishing preference (which was also the same until they reached thirteen) their fishing styles are as unlike as any two siblings can be. And their clashes were legendary.
You just keep flipping that poofy thing you call a fly at them there fish.
From the moment they both stepped into the sweet, honey-colored waters of the Jordan one could see the steam begin to rise. Glancing each others rig askance prompted a wrinkle-nose sneer. It's not like they didn't know what to expect. But there was always that dumb-shudder of disbelief.
Why does he fish dry-fly?, she thought with a mental thumbs-down.
I can't believe she fish's nymphs, he convulsed.
It wasn't any different today. April, began by tying on a pheasant tail nymph weighted moderately with lead wire. On the first cast the fly hit the water and began to sink in front of a submerged log that protruded about six inches out of the water with branches stretching and resting on the bottom, creating a fish-hotel of sorts. Nothing happened.
The cast was made again after the nymph straightened in the current and this time hesitated on its way down the length of the log. She lifted the rod in anticipation and instantly felt the tug of a fish. After stripping line, the tug stopped and it was clear the fly was now snagged on one of the arms of the submerged log. Shit happens.
Bah! That's the trouble with nymphing, Kaine thought, Yur always hangin' up.
There are many maneuvers that can free a stuck fly, but none consists of grabbing the rod with both hands and yanking repeatedly. On the third yank April lost footing and fell backwards, regaining it just in time to keep from getting a total dunking. Her sigh of relief was short lived as in her hands was a broken three foot section of her eight foot fly rod. The rest of the rod was dangling by threads of graphite.
Kaine couldn't contain his most practiced evil blast of laughter, "Haahaaaaa! Skues would be proud of you! But, you did manage to stay dry...barely."
Undaunted April gave the line a quick yank, collected the rod parts and stumbled from the river, Kaine detecting her every slip – weird, she's as sure footed as I am.
"Gettin' the backup. You just keep flipping that poofy thing you call a fly at them there fish. We're hardly done, bastardus."
He expected a firestorm...
Uneasy with April's unsteadiness, Kaine flipped the observation away – coffee shakes, he thought. But on her return April waded around a low cedar-sweeper and again she slipped and nearly topped her hip-boots.
Back beside Kaine April sensed the question in his eyes.
"I'm slightly pregnant", she said.
Kaine stood motionless as her three words penetrated his head. The first two were like a shotgun blast. The third was worse; it was like the whole Hiroshima boom complete with mushroom cloud and scorched earth. He looked up and stared at the sky a few seconds, then doffed his straw hat in recognition of her new condition. Or it might have been respect, or a simple salutation between two persons once so genetically indivisible, now forever parted.
He then blurted out the only thing he could think of to say...
"And here I thought you were just gettin' a beer belly."
Kaine leaned down, dunked his straw hat in the Jordan, scooped up a brim-full of its cold, crystal water, and dumped it on April's head. He expected a firestorm but she just laughed, they laughed until they cried.
"There!" Kaine said. "If it's a boy call him Jordan."
April snapped back, "Hell, if it's a girl I'll still call her Jordan!"
But with three words the world changed. From the color of the sky to the shadows of the sun, it all changed.
And all bets were off. - WES:::