Totoka River the upper peninsula

There was a tentativeness to Rokig’s steps that made Coelacanth think he was new to river-fishing. It was still too early for the Chinook to run, unfortunately for him, but the warming of the weather had yielded other opportunities for a good feed. The timing was just perfect for early summer steelhead, and she indicated the shapes with her muzzle. “Look,” she whispered, licking her lips at the thought of the sweet, juicy flesh. It was a bit trickier, but she pinned her gaze on one such shape toward the shallower end of the riverbend and plunged her muzzle below surface. This time, it was a direct hit — and she came away with a large specimen that she tossed nimbly ashore.

Once the salmon stopped flopping and grew still, she set it alongside the trout she’d caught, then slid into the water a third time. This time, she took point behind Rokig. If he wanted to try, she would be willing to serve as his backup — and if he missed, he could still take his pick of the two she’d landed. She readied herself to scare the fish in his direction, whispering encouragingly,

“Try and try — fast, fast.”