On the wind ripped shores of Iris Point,
The Alaskan Spirit did anoint.
The half muted souls from Caroline,
When they plunged to waters sheared by time.
Left to the East, where their rights,
To a land without rule and the northern lights.
They offered their trust to Jake and Dave,
As loon and merganser tethered to wave.
Ferrules true and tippet void of knick,
They launched from camp, ore water so slick.
Through the river they slashed as each one said,
"What creatures are these - so rusty, so red?"
The casting, the mending, the stripping began,
With ethereal fervor, with graphite in hand.
The loops did unfold, the 4X unraveled,
The sockeye did boil, as they spawned in the gravel.
Promises kept, so swiftly delivered,
As swift as the current, as swift as the river.
They connected with char, with grayling, with trout,
Short time did it take to figure it out.
The click-paw she whaled, the disc drag did hiss,
Often they landed, sometimes they missed.
One thing was clear, joy was not lacking,
As muscular rainbows slashed into backing.
Flexing rods, like magical wands,
Casted brotherhood spells, these men did bond.
Obvious too, they fished without care,
They reeled and they laughed, they fished with the bear.
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John Critikos with An Artic Char
While clutching their caps and facing aft,
They creased the Nerka, to camp - alas.
With boyish grins, they peeled off their waders,
Preparing to feast, so delightfully catered.
The stories were thick as the late hour glowed,
Embellishing truths while the Agulukpak flowed.
With each stiff breeze, the Dominicans flared,
Imbibing spirits - 'stilled in Scotland somewhere.
Burrowed neath their blankets tight,
Swirling thoughts spun into night.
Surreal was their degree of fun,
The best part was, 'twas just day one.
John Peter Critikos
Gastonia, North Carolina
October, 2000.
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