Fats McCue and I were enjoying a humid late-June evening while tossing spoons for pike. We were lucky youth, growing up in our quiet, little town. It happened that a river ran through it. We were fishing a small bay called "the Basin." Encircled with a cement wall to create a harbour for small craft, it didn't look like an ideal fishing spot, but it consistently gave up fat, sassy pike of three to five pounds — good enough for 12-year-olds — and it was a mere five minutes from my back door. Irretrievable time It had actually been nip and tuck as to whether we would fish that evening or skulk up to Fats' attic to again fluster ourselves with his old man's hidden stash of adult magazines. We were on the cusp of the "dark time" in a boy's life — the teen years — when so muddled by hormones you do no fishing at all. But on this night our sirens still had gills. The narrow mouth of the harbour was spanned by an aging, rusty train trestle. Beneath it was a big raft. I was on the raft, working a spanking new red and white banana-shaped plug along the edge of some weeds. That lure had set me back a buck-fifty at the corner hardware store. It had taken me weeks to save the money, what with the need to buy bubble cards and all. McCue was down the dock a piece, tossing his trusty five-of-diamonds spoon between moored boats. Fishing rivalry We had both caught a couple of hammer-handles of about 12 inches. This was more bothersome than normal, because two nights before our friend — and bitter fishing rival — Goon Farrell, had taken a 5-pounder from the harbour. Despite pinning him to the sidewalk and tickling him mercilessly, Goon had refused to reveal the lure he'd used. But he'd caught the fish alright, because he'd gone to both our front doors to show it off. "Don't you bring that icky thing in here," had shouted my mom, who always wanted the outdoors kept there. It was already dark out, but by the street light I could tell that it was a fine specimen. Any pike five pounds or over was a status fish for us. "That's not so big," I lied, trying to look unimpressed. I took a quick glance at Goon's rod,
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