[Fishing] Let's go fishing

It was barely dawn when Bao was suddenly roused by a succession of thunderous knocks upon the wooden planks of his bunk.

"Rise and shine, Bao!" Reed bellowed, his voice too cheerful for so early in the day. "Time to catch breakfast!"

Bao growled into his pillow. "I don't catch breakfast, Reed. I order it."

Reed’s face popped into view from the top bunk, upside down and grinning. “Well today, you’re doing it with a fishing line and your face six inches from a lake. Let’s go.”

“Surely there’s a dining hall alternative—porridge? Fruit? An herb-infused chia bowl?”

But Reed had already trotted out, tail flicking with excitement.

With a melodramatic sigh, Bao hurled himself off the bed and thudded softly onto the cabin floor. Since his arrival at Camp Silverpine, Bao had been wrestling with how unprepared his life had left him for. well, anything dirt comes into contact with.

He trotted along the path to the lake, the damp ground soft with dew under his hooves. Mist hugged the water, and the sky was beginning to fade from blue-black to rose-gold. Camp Silverpine's lake was huge, bordered by tall reeds and weeping willows, and was a perfect duplicate of the trees in glass.

A group of campers had already gathered near the docks. Reed was waiting, two fishing lines looped into his antlers and a tackle box open beside him.

“There he is,” Reed said, tossing Bao a nod. “I was beginning to think your hooves couldn’t handle the terrain.”

“I’m perfectly capable,” Bao sniffed, though his left foreleg was already speckled with mud. “I just don’t prefer mornings. Or fishing. Or lakes.”

"Perfect," Reed said. "That makes you the perfect student."

A counselor, a sturdy Pudu named Berta, ambled over, her whistle jiggling on a lanyard around her neck. "Good morning, fellas. You first-timers ready to learn a little patience?"

"I already have great patience," Bao said. "I once waited three hours for a limited-edition coat to go on sale."

Berta's eyebrow went up, but she didn't say anything. Instead, she gestured to a grassy bank sloping near the pier, where other campers were setting up poles, some with hooves, others with mouths or tails or cunning tricks Bao hadn't even dreamed of.

"Pick a spot. We've got bamboo rods with loops if you don't prefer antlers. If you do, keep the line near the base wrapped—it'll be steadier.".

Bao stared at the gear in amazement. "I don't know how I'm going to tie anything. I don't have fingers."

Reed shoved him. "Okay, just try! Watch me do mine."

With efficient grace, Reed knelt down and tied his fishing line together with his…hands, which bao didn’t have. Then showed him how to throw it himself with his antlers.

"It's like painting with your face," Reed joked.

Bao tried to copy him. He bent down and, using his teeth, grabbed the line, but the hook slipped off. He tried again, and the line was tangled. He tried a third time—and somehow had it wrapped around his own leg.

Reed was already smiling.

"This is uncivilized," Bao complained, wiggling one leg.

"Nope," Reed said, sorting him out delicately. "It's nature. Big difference."

Finally, with help, Bao had the line cast and his pole nestled in the curve of a root. He sat down clumsily, legs folding under him.

And then. nothing.

The lake was still. The air buzzed with cicadas. The only motion was the passing ripple in the water or a dragonfly crossing by.

"Now we wait," Reed said, looking at the float floating in the water.

Bao glared at his own line. "I could be writing in a journal. Or meditating. Or having someone fish for me."

"Or," Reed said with a smile, "you could experience what it's like to work for something you want."

Bao snorted. "I don't want a fish."

"You might," Reed said, "if you actually catch one."

They sat in silence. Not the elegant silence of a music recital or viewing art gallery. Frayed silence. Birds sang. Frogs croaked. Mosquitoes hummed in his ears. The sun was rising and heating the back of his neck, and still, nothing tugged at his line.

Then, just as Bao was about to put down and succumb to boredom, the float sank.

"Reed," he hissed.

"Steady," Reed whispered, fixed on Bao's pole.

The float slipped underwater once again—then vanished beneath the water's surface.

Now.

Bao dove forward, holding the rod in his mouth and hauling back. It jumped back and forth. Water splashed all around. Something pulled on the line with a strength.

"It's enormous!" Bao roared through gritted teeth.

"Don't let it snap!" Reed shouted, sprinting to help.

With a mighty wobble of his neck and a scuffle of his hooves, Bao pulled and pulled and stumbled—and finally, with one last mighty pull, a shining fish burst from the water, thrashing in the air before splashing down into water with a landing of water onto the sand.

"I did it!" Bao shouted, releasing the rod in amazement. "I actually—I—caught a fish!"

The other campers cheered. Berta smiled in approval. Reed merely laughed.

"Told you," he said. "You may want it when you caught it."

Bao stepped forward and examined the fish—scales glimmering, gills pulsating. It was still alive, flipping delicately on the grass.

His excitement cooled into something else. He looked around. Some of the campers were holding onto their fish; others were letting them go.

"What do I do with it now?" Bao whispered.

Reed tilted his head. "That's your choice."

Bao hesitated—then bent down, gently prodded the fish with his muzzle, and pushed it back into the shallows.

With a flick of its tail, it splashed into the lake and disappeared.

Reed grinned. "Good choice."

Bao exhaled. "It just… didn't feel right."

They sat there for a while longer, watching the sun come up all the way over the trees. Bao didn't catch another fish. He didn't even try. But he didn't mind.

Later that morning, as the campers trotted back to the mess hall, Bao lingered by the lake. His hooves were caked in mud. His antlers were tangled with line. His fur was no longer pristine.

But his chest felt light.

When Reed turned and called, “Coming?” Bao nodded.

“Yes. But next time,” he said, with a grin, “I demand a net and a personal fish assistant.”

Reed laughed. “You’re on your own.”