The water is metallic blue-grey this afternoon, and every now and then a brown leaf floats past. The end of summer isn’t that far away. The days will start to get colder until the first light snow comes. Eventually more snow will come, blanketing the city. Then the river will freeze over. Yet even then, we can still fish. Before he was taken away, my father showed me how to throw a line into the water between the creaking sheets of ice. The river’s in hibernation, Papa told me, but it never stops moving.

I watch my float move downstream on the current. It bobs under, and I feel a tug on the line wrapped around my finger. I flick up the rod and the line tightens like wire. Something’s there. Feeling the pull of resistance, I quickly start to reel it in. Suddenly a fish flips out of the water, making a graceful arc.

A gasp comes from Bit. “Look’t the size of it.”

Working the line rapidly, I bring it in – not too fast, not too fast! It’s the big one, the one I’ve been hunting all this time, I’m sure of it. Its silvery back cuts through the water. Then it dives, heading for deep water. The line whizzes out of the reel. Please let my line be strong enough to hold it!

The rod bends towards the water, the line taut. Please don’t break! Running along the bank, I start hauling in line, drawing it in closer. Again the fish cuts through the water. Then again it leaps.

“Look’t it!” cries Bit.

I’m aware of nothing else. There is just me and the fish. I haven’t even noticed we’ve come to the stone bridge. The fish is visible now – huge, speckled silver, thrashing in the shallower water. A granddaddy of a trout. A beauty.

“Come on,” I breathe, “easy now–”

Tail flicking, it’s coming into the shore. Nanna will want it for the pot – she’ll kill me if she finds out I let it go – but I can’t take a fish of this size and beauty. Splashing into the shallows, I start to reach for it. I want to hold it for a few moments in the gentle current, just to know I’ve held it, then I’ll let it go, back to the deep water where it belongs.

A shot rings out. The fish bucks, water hits my face. The fish is lying on its side, still, and its blood seeps into the water like dye.