Rose City Risk

My cast was perfect and the feeling of satisfaction I had was almost, but not quite, as good as when I actually hooked up. I was fishing for winter steelhead on the Clackamas River near Carver outside Portland, Oregon on a perfect Monday in early March. It would have been a perfect day even if I hadn’t already landed and released two of the incredibly beautiful fish I was targeting. The fact the bite was on and the sky a deep blue made it one of those days that I live for. One of the most rewarding benefits of being a private investigator and being my own boss was that I could take time for days such as this. It far more than made up for the somewhat meager income I managed to derive from the times I actually did work. This is not to say that I find what I do for a living unrewarding, because it often is, especially when I helped decent people out of tough situations.

I had been fishing since daybreak and I could tell it was about time to call it a day. Traffic was picking up on the bridge near my fishing spot with people heading in for their jobs in the city and its environs. It was tough to call it quits because I had the prime drift to myself for a change. The steelhead is a large sea going member of the salmon family. The run was just about over and I wanted to make the most of it. I was in between jobs and had nothing significant pending, so I told myself, as so many anglers had through the ages, just one more cast and that will be it. Once again I zipped my custom made spinner out into the riffle and let it sink before starting a slow retrieve. Once again I felt the lure bounce along the bottom, come to a suspiciously fishy feeling stop, and I set the hook. With steelhead you have no doubt when you have a fish on and my line screeched off the ultra light reel as the fish took off with a vengeance.

It was at that moment that my cell phone started jingling with the customized ring I had selected for my significant other, Holly Palmer. Holly was probably the only person whose call I would answer given I had a fish on (and I almost included my mother in that). Few people or things are more important to me than fishing but Holly is one of them. I loosened my drag and tucked my fishing rod under my arm hoping for the best. Given I had told Holly what my plans were for the morning and that she knew how I felt about fishing I knew her call had to be important.

“Hey, Holly, what’s up?” I asked with what I hoped sounded like sincere interest. She answered, sounding upset which was extremely unusual for her, by saying, “Matt, sorry to call but I have some terrible news. Alex’s friend Doug was found dead near the Burnside Bridge. Alex just called and I told her I would give you a call and see if you could check with Ben and see what the police know.” Alex, short for Alexandra Galloway, was Holly’s best friend and they worked together as sports apparel designers at Nike.

Ben, otherwise known as Detective Canfield, was a homicide detective with the Portland Police. He and I had met while I was working on a case the previous fall and we had since become friends outside our working relationship. I told Holly I would call and check in with him and call her back. She thanked me and asked how the fishing was. I told her it had been fantastic and that I’d fill her in later if she was willing. She told me that would be great, I could hear her customary good cheer returning, and we hung up.

I put away my phone and began to retrieve my line which, as I expected, had gone slack. The fish was long gone. I knew the fishing spell was broken and it was time to get back to the real world.