Randall had hoped to get an early start on fishing the next day, but two rows of crops were ready to be harvested. The second set of strawberries weren’t as large or sweet as the first ones he’d collected. They still tasted good, but he suspected these new ones wouldn’t warrant a premium price.

The potatoes were also ready, and he had to dig them out of the ground. It took a lot longer than simply pulling fruit off their stems. He had to be careful when digging into the mounds that he didn’t accidentally cut the potatoes in half. Those he did chop through were put aside in a separate basket he planned to use for his own cooking.

Two hours later, he carried the strawberries in baskets and the potatoes in burlap sacks to the collection box next to the road. By the time he finished everything, the sun was already arcing up into the sky. On the bright side, he’d found plenty of worms while digging up the potatoes.

He’d wanted to try his luck at finding more trout in the stream north of the farm, but the book he’d borrowed recommended fishing for them at dawn or dusk. He checked for other types of fish that liked worms but weren’t as strict on the timing when they would be active. There were many salt water varieties that fit the bill, and the book recommended the harbor as a good spot. It was sheltered, meaning smaller fish would congregate there and larger fish would come in to hunt.

He watered the plants that hadn’t been harvested yet, retrieved his fishing equipment, and walked to town. The day was slightly overcast, with the sun peeking out occasionally between breaks in the clouds. He hoped that meant better fishing, but he’d left the book on the dining room table of the farmhouse. He didn’t want it getting wet if it started to rain.

The harbor was in the same sad state he’d seen his first day on Haven. The sea wall was battered with parts of it spread out across the little bay it had previously protected. The ferry boat could still be seen beneath the water in the middle of the harbor. Schools of fish swam around it, darting this way and that when a larger shadow loomed close to them. While he lamented the fact the boat he needed to get off the island was in such bad shape, it did make finding the right place to cast his line easier.

Randall tied a cork bobber to his line, measuring out a distance between it and the hook that corresponded to the depth he saw the fish swimming alongside the ferry. He put a worm on the hook and cast as far as he could. The bobber landed about twenty feet short of where he’d wanted, but he decided to leave it there and see what happened.

The school of fish undulated back and forth, sometimes approaching his line and other times retreating under the deck of the ferry. Each time it drew near, Randall held his breath. They never came out far enough to reach the spot where his bait was dangling in the water.

After thirty minutes, his mind was wandering when the bobber dipped down and came back up. He waited to see if it would move more. The next time it was pulled under for five seconds, and he yanked on his rod to set the hook. The response was a jerk so hard he almost dropped it into the water. He held on for dear life while the fish dashed around in circles, the bobber splashing through the waves.

Randall let the line play out while he got over his surprise and planted his feet on the pier he’d been fishing from. He yanked the rod upward and furiously reeled in the line. For a moment, the fish turned his direction and rushed at where he stood on the pier. Then when Randall least expected it, the fish jumped out of the water, its scales flashing in a few rays of sun that had broken through the clouds. He stared in awe at a fish that was over two feet long.

The fish darted away when it landed, and he groaned as the line snapped at the sudden motion. There was nothing he could do but replace the bobber and hook. This time he cast far enough to reach the side of the ferry.

He didn’t have to wait long to get a second bite. While the fish fought, it was nowhere near as intense as the one he’d lost. The rod barely bent, and there were no crazy flips out of the water. He reeled the line all the way in to find a sardine that was about six inches long hanging onto the end.

“You’re not exactly what I was hoping for,” Randall said as he removed the hook, “but at least I can say I caught something.”

He secured the fish on a stringer and lowered it back in the water by the pier. He replaced the bait and cast at the same spot.

Over the course of an hour, he caught more sardines, ending up with nine fish total, each measuring between six and eight inches. He’d also thrown back a couple smaller ones that didn’t seem worth keeping.

At this point, someone walked out onto the pier. People had been coming and going along the nearby road all day, but none of them had come out where he was fishing. As she drew nearer, he recognized the Japanese woman who had been one of the finalists at the flower festival.

“Good afternoon.” She gave a small bow. “Is it all right if I join you?”

“Of course.” Randall waved his hand across the empty pier. “It’s not exactly crowded.”

She walked past him to the end of the pier and set down a small box she was carrying. She also had a long fishing rod, separated into two pieces that she carefully joined together before feeding a fishing line along it. The length of the rod was stained a dark brown color. It looked to be much higher quality than the basic rod Randall was using.

“Have you caught anything?” she asked while deftly tying a hook on the end of her line.

“A few sardines.” He pulled the stringer out of the water to show her.

“They would make good bait.”

He studied the small fish, having thought of them as his catch. He hadn’t considered he could use them to tempt larger fish.

While he was thinking over what she’d said, she opened her tackle box and took out a few things. Inside were a variety of dried bait, a bit of soft cheese, and some imitation worms. She retrieved one of the latter and moved to set it on the hook.

“Would you like one of my sardines instead?” He wanted to see how she would use it to catch a larger fish.

“Thank you.” She pointed at the smallest one he’d strung up and waited while he pulled it off. “It will save me some time having to catch my own.”

He handed her the smallest of the sardines, and she attached it to the hook. She cast out into the water, aiming for a spot halfway between the pier and the sunken ferry. Randall baited his own hook with another worm and cast at the spot where he’d been catching sardines.

“Your name was Randall, was it not?” When he nodded, she continued. “They said you were stranded here when the ferry crashed into the barrier.”

“That’s right.”

“We are in the same situation.” She smiled sadly. “I was to return home on the ferry the day after the storm. Now I can’t leave the island until it is fixed.”

Randall’s thoughts flashed back to the conversation he’d had with Vincent at the cafe. “You must be the fishing expert I’ve heard about. Although when Vincent told me there was a tourist who knew a lot about fishing, I was expecting someone quite different.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Who did you expect?”

Randall laughed awkwardly. “I don’t know. An old man, maybe, with a yellow raincoat and grizzled white beard. The kind you see on boxes of fish sticks.”

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

“Fish sticks?” Her head tilted to the side before she looked down at herself. “I don’t know this man you speak of. Sorry to have disappointed.”

He was about to apologize, thinking he might have offended her, but she turned away and covered a smile with her hand.

“You’re teasing me, right?” he asked.

She nodded. “Where I come from, there are many old men like you described on the fishing boats. They were always shocked when I asked to go with them.”

Their conversation was interrupted when Randall got a bite. He reeled in another sardine, but Yuki stopped him from taking it off the line. It was small enough he’d planned to throw it back.

“If you leave it on,” she said, “you could cast it out as bait for some of the larger fish. Put it somewhere in the open between here and the ferry.”

He did as she said, casting into the middle of the harbor. “Now what?”

“Wait for a larger fish to come along and take the sardine. When your bobber stays under for a few seconds, you can safely set the hook in the larger fish.”

Randall waited and watched for his bobber to move. It shifted a bit to the left and right as the sardine that he’d hooked swam around.

Yuki got the first bite, and she waited patiently to make sure the fish had taken the bait. She jerked hard, her long rod bending down as the fish thrashed around. She reeled a little then let go of the knob. Line flew out as the fish ran, and she made no move to stop it. Eventually the pace at which her line was being drawn out slowed, and she pulled the rod tight again. She alternated between reeling in the line and letting it go out again.

“What are you doing?” asked Randall at one point when she was letting the fish flee.

“If you pull too hard when the fish is running, you’ll break the line. Best to let the fish go. When it is exhausted, you can reel it in easily.”

Randall watched the contest continue. It seemed like over time, the periods where the fish was resisting became fewer, and she reeled in more line than went out. Ten minutes after hooking the fish, she finally pulled it out of the water.

“What did you catch?” asked Randall.

“It’s a cod.” She held the fish up for him to see. It looked to be about sixteen inches long.

“That’s a nice catch.”

She nodded. “Thank you for the sardine.”

“Here, take another.” He pulled the string from the water and gave her the next smallest one from his catch.

Shortly after, it was Randall’s turn to try landing a larger fish. His bobber disappeared into the water and stayed down long enough that Yuki motioned for him to pull on the rod.

This time he paid attention to how the fish was acting, letting off the pressure when it jerked on the line and swam away. At one point, he thought he might run out of line entirely, but the fish finally tired enough he could bring it in to shore.

He pulled it out of the water to find he’d also caught a cod, although his was only about twelve inches long. It was still the largest thing he’d caught so far.

“Congratulations,” said Yuki. “Now all you need is a yellow raincoat and scraggly beard.”

Randall laughed. “After only one fish? I feel like I should have to do a lot more before I’ve earned the distinction.”

“Maybe by the end of the day.”

Randall caught more small sardines to use as bait, although he didn’t have as much luck with the larger fish. They kept snapping his line despite the encouragement and advice Yuki gave him. She seemed to have no trouble with any fish she hooked, and he wondered if perhaps her nicer rod made it easier to catch fish. He’d have to look into buying one of the more expensive ones he’d seen at the general store when he had the money.

By the end of the day, Randall had five sardines and a cod to show for his efforts. Yuki had three cod and a small tuna.

“What will you do with all those fish?” Randall asked as they packed up their gear.

“I trade most of what I catch to the owner of the pub in exchange for room and board.” She held out her line of fish. “But first you should choose one to take with you.”

“Why?” asked Randall.

“When I have to catch my own bait, I’m lucky to finish with two larger fish in a day. I would like to show my thanks for your generosity.”

“Oh.” Randall had planned to trade the sardines at the store for some cooking supplies and fix the cod for himself. He remembered he’d promised to share his catch with Lesly, so he pointed at the smallest of the cod Yuki was holding and said, “I know someone who would love to have fish for dinner tonight.”

Yuki removed the cod and handed it to him. “Until next time.”

She nodded and walked up the street out of the harbor.

“See you around,” said Randall.

#

The door to the library was locked when Randall tried turning the doorknob, but he could see someone still moving around inside. He knocked, and Lesly came over to open it.

“Sorry, we’re closed for the day,” she said.

“I wasn’t looking to borrow a book.” He held up his stringer full of fish.

Lesly clapped her hands together. “That’s quite a catch! I guess the book helped.”

“It did.” He removed one of the cod and held it out. “Here you are, as promised.”

“You’re too kind,” she said as she took it out of his hands.

“If not for you, I likely wouldn’t have it in the first place. Enjoy!”

She thanked him profusely, and he excused himself, saying he needed to go to the store before it closed. When he arrived, Hank was standing behind the door, looking out at the street.

“I was getting ready to close up,” said Hank. “Looks like that fishing rod has been put to good use.”

“I got a bit lucky with the big fish,” said Randall. “Though, it’s fine for catching the smaller ones.”

Randall traded the sardines for a sack of flour, bottle of oil, and a bit of salt. He’d never really eaten sardines and wasn’t even sure how to fix them, but he could filet the cod and fry it up. Hank flipped the sign around to say the shop was closed after he walked out.

Back at the farmhouse, he cut the mangled potatoes he’d saved that morning and left them to fry in the oil while he cut the filets and removed the bones from the cod. He coated them in flour and dropped them into the oil next to the potatoes. When they were done, he put everything on a plate and headed outside to sit on the edge of the porch.

As the shadow of the mountain slowly passed over the farm, he took a bite of the fish and almost moaned in delight. The flesh broke away, warm and flaky. The taste beat out a box of frozen fish sticks any day. He just wished he’d thought to ask Hank if they had any tartar sauce for sale.

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Relationships

Lesly ★ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Yuki ★ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

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