Morning came sharp and hungry. Lin Yu'an grabbed his fishing tackle bag from the pack. Inside were spare lines, assorted hooks, a few lead sinkers, and a couple of secret items he had stashed for this moment: high‑carbon hooks with tiny barbs and a spool of near‑invisible, ultra‑tough nylon line. He had not packed manufactured lures, so he improvised. Using feathers from the grouse and a strip of birch bark, he tied a handful of small, lifelike fly lures with careful, neat knots.
"Look at this," he said to the camera, holding up a finished fly. "In clear water this will catch a predator's eye. Sharpen your tools, and your work gets easier."
Without a rod he planned to fish with a hand line. He cut seven or eight meters of the nylon spool, tied a secure fisherman's knot, and coiled most of the line loosely in his gloved left hand. He pinched the running line with his right hand about a meter from the lure, letting the feathered fly dangle like a tiny, struggling insect.
Casting by hand required rhythm and timing. He swung the lure gently to feel its weight, then increased the arc until the line sped. At the right moment he flicked his wrist and released the coil in his left hand. The almost invisible line hissed once and the fly landed with barely a ripple at the edge of a backwater bay near a large bluestone.
He worked the fly with tiny tugs, mimicking an insect or wounded minnow. He varied the casts from open water to the edge of water plants and near rock crevices, always careful to avoid snags. Each cast demanded precise control of line and timing, and every twitch counted.
After about thirty minutes of patient fishing, the tip of the line gave a clean little tap in his fingertips. Lin Yu'an felt it instantly. He pulled the line upward with his right hand while winding with his left. A sudden, violent run answered. The line tore toward the depths and his hands stung from the shock without a rod to cushion the pull.
"Whoa, strong one," he muttered, reeling and feeding line as needed. The trout fought in short bursts, flashing against the surface. He adjusted his stance, letting the fish run when it needed to and hauling line in when it tired. It was a raw, physical contest, every bit as primal as he remembered from his old fishing trips.
Then the trout broke the surface in a silver arc. Sunlight painted a rainbow along its flank and a vivid red stripe marked its side. "Rainbow trout," he breathed, excitement making his voice crack slightly. He guided the exhausted fish to the shallow pebbled shore and scooped it up behind the gills. It was a fat, muscular specimen, roughly three pounds, its skin shining like metal.
He raised the trout to the camera with a grin. "Look at this. Caught purely on a hand line fly. Dinner is solved." The thrill of that single fish carried through the morning, and over the next few hours he repeated the pattern, landing eight smaller trout. A few got off on sudden runs, but his improvised lures and steady handline technique earned him a generous haul.
On the shore he found a piece of crumpled tinfoil. Salvaged rubbish seemed trivial, but to him it was a tool. "Other people's trash is useful here," he said, pocketing the foil. Back at camp he wrapped the largest trout in the foil, sprinkled a pinch of salt, and laid it in the embers. For the remainder he built a simple smoking rack: a frame of branches, hooks of green wood, and a slow, smoky fire of moist pine needles and birch bark beneath.
He explained the preservation process to the camera. "Smoking extends shelf life and adds flavor. With a good smoke, these fish will last days and keep morale up." When he opened the foil after roasting, the aroma hit him- smoky, salty, pure. The skin was crisp and the flesh tender. He tore a piece and closed his eyes in delight. "If you could taste this, you would know why people love wild food," he said, savoring the texture and the simple victory.
The day's catch and the preserved fish changed the camp's equation. Food security for several days made planning less urgent and gave him room to focus on shelter and wood. He cleaned and filleted the fish carefully, saving bones for stock and small scraps for future bait.
That evening, sitting by the fire, he looked at the rainbow trout's iridescent flank still visible in his mind and felt a steady confidence. Fly fishing by hand demanded patience, finesse, and endurance. Today those traits had paid off. Tomorrow he would scout more likely fishing spots and refine his lures. For now he closed the log with a grin: the wilderness had provided, and he had learned how to ask properly.