Fiction

BENEATH THE WATERFALL

Ron Bolt

Ray Miller regained consciousness twelve feet underwater.  Disoriented, he tumbled in the froth and hoped for a clue of which direction was up. As Ray limply cartwheeled, he caught a glimpse of light and instinctively attempted to propel himself in that direction.  His arms and legs gave little response, but the current lifted him to the surface in an eddy not far from shore.

His feet touched ground and he staggered toward the bank. Amazed to be alive, he collapsed, coughed up water, and wheezed.  After a wild-eyed struggle, breathing came easier, and Ray slipped into sleep.

Some time later, Ray's eyelids opened slightly, and he raised his head off small, smooth stones.  Tall evergreen trees crowded the bank and covered the sides of the canyon.  Upstream, a waterfall poured over a high cliff and met the pool with roaring spray.

Confused and lightheaded, Ray could not recall this location nor how he came to be there. Questions popped into his mind like bubbles rising to the surface.  Did I hit my head on a rock?  Did I come over the waterfall?  Did someone attack me? Am I really still alive?

The day began normally enough for Ray Miller.  He awoke to blue skies and a forecast of mid-90's. Ray grabbed his camera and fishing gear, found his way to Diamond Lake Boulevard, and aimed his car toward the rising sun.

Ray, a freelance photographer, planned to photograph waterfalls in the Little River area for a regional publication. He figured he might check out the fishing, as he did whenever opportunity arose.

After some promising photographs of Shadow Falls, Ray parked his car by Little River, picked up his camera and pole and walked up the arched bridge to Wolf Creek Falls. He paused to bask in the warmth at the top of the arch and peered into the clear water below.  He laughed, What a great place to work on a hot summer day! 

Hiking along Wolf Creek, Ray snapped shots of wildflowers, mossy trees, and sunrays cutting through the forest at their morning angle.

The haze in Ray's brain cleared somewhat: he thought this place looked vaguely familiar.  A fishing pole, my pole, Ray recalled, had washed up near him.  I like to fish. I was fishing. He studied the falls. I've seen this waterfall before or at least one like it.

A mental video began to play through Ray's mind. He arrived at the falls.  He looked at the waterfall from many angles and walked a narrow ledge at the bottom of the cliff to get closer to the falls.  I slipped!  Ray's body jumped at the memory.  And I fell in the water!  He wobbled and sat down.

That's all I remember. Ray reasoned, I probably hit my head on a rock.  He spied a trail which dead-ended at the falls. I must have hiked in here.  Ray looked in the opposite direction, then stood and began walking downstream.

After several hours, Ray's clothes had dried, and he would have enjoyed the hike except for the uncertainty of it all--and one other matter.   His stomach growled.  Again. Each time it growled, it ached. I have no idea how far this trail goes, but I imagine I have a car parked at the end of it.  Probably even some food in the car. 

After another hour of walking, Ray figured he should try fishing.  I need to find some bait. He pulled a chunk of bark from a decomposing tree and found a few feisty beetles.

It calmed Ray to toss a line in the water.  Doing the familiar in an unfamiliar place brought a sense of belonging.  Ray fished intermittently as he worked his way down the creek.  Normally, fishing a creek would have been a delightful way to spend a summer day, but today he fished not for pleasure--he needed food.

Ray worked the bank for several more hours and caught nothing.  He considered the bait.  His stomach asked his brain, "How bad could it be?"  Ray shuddered and walked out to a point.  He dropped a line into a promising hole on the downstream side.

Thirty minutes later as he pulled in his line for the last time, sharp crackles interrupted the gurgling of the creek.  Ray turned to see a small column of smoke tended by a man.

The man grinned and waved.  Ray looked to see if he was cooking anything.  No, just a fire.

 "How's fishing today?" the man called.

Ray prided himself on being able to catch fish anytime, any place.  He shrugged and shook his head.  The man said, "Try casting on the other side of the point."

He started to argue, "There's no fish . . ."  What the heck.  I'll humor this guy so he'll help me.   As soon as Ray's hook pierced the water, a fish hit it hard.  Usually, he would have enjoyed the terrific fight, but his stomach needed filling. Five minutes later, he dropped a fat twenty-inch fish on the bank.  It resembled a rainbow trout, but more vibrantly colored.

Ray couldn't remember ever having fought a fish like this.  He would have gladly caught and released all day, but his hunger needed released first.  Surprised to find a knife at his feet, he filleted the fish. 

When he walked over to the fire, the man grinned and handed him a roasting stick.  Ray threaded the fish and held it over the coals.  He offered the other fillet to the man.

"Thank you." 

"How did you know where the fish are?"

"Oh, I fish this creek from time to time."

Ray relaxed and enjoyed his conversation with this man. "I've been fishing all day without even a bite.  This is like a miracle!"

The man nodded, chuckled and watched his stick.

"I'm not really sure where I am.  I think I fell in the water and hit my head."

"Yes. That is what happened," the man agreed.

"Did you see me?" 

"In a sense."  The man looked up at Ray and smiled.

Still partly dazed from the fall, Ray could not place this man, even though he felt like an old friend. "Do I know you?"

"We've known each other for a long time." The man looked deeply into Ray's eyes.

Ray trembled and dropped his fish in the fire.  "Am I . . ."

The man nodded and his smile became warmer.

"And you're . . ." Ray knew the answer and jumped to his feet.  The man rose as well, and they rushed into an embrace, sobbing and laughing.

After what seemed like an eternity, Ray stepped back to look into his friend's face.  With his ever present smile, the man offered his roasted fish to him.  A new round of laughter ensued and Ray dug into the most satisfying fish of his life-past or present.

Inkstorm