Salt and Tabasco

First time I remember fishing was with my dad in an icy stream. We were standing in two feet of water; the sun was shining, and my dad was catching rainbow trout. We were in the mountain snow melt off in the Rio Puercos, New Mexico, the Pig River. After he had a stringer full, he handed me his rod, so I could feel the fish pull on the line. We gutted the fish and soon had them cooking over a fire. My dad rolled them in cornmeal, pepper, salt, and tabasco. They were the best fish I’d ever eaten. I wondered then if fish could talk to each other. I knew if I asked my old man, he’d shake his head at my strange thoughts.