Mr. Cook laughed and went back to help Joe build the fire.
It was nearly five o’clock in the afternoon by the time Sandy and Mike got down to the river with their fiberglas casting rods. Taking a position opposite some broken currents about three quarters of a mile above the roaring cataracts of Cutthroat Rapids, Sandy unhooked the catch of his reel and made ready for his first cast.
“A good caster,” he told Mike, “can hit a leaf floating in the middle of a stream.” He pointed to a small twig moving in their direction. “That’ll be my target,” he said.
Sandy placed his right foot in front of his left, almost as if he intended to walk out into the water. He held his rod in front of his body with his right hand. With an easy, swinging motion, he brought up his rod until his thumb reached eye-level. The rod quivered back in an arc, then lunged forward. The line snaked out and soared gracefully through the air.
A moment later there was an almost imperceptible splash about three inches from the twig. Sandy kept a gentle pressure on the reel with his thumb and allowed the bait to be carried along by the river for eight or ten feet before he began to reel in.
Mike whistled in admiration. “Pretty fancy. Let’s have a lesson.”
“Okay,” Sandy said, putting down his rod. “Now hold your thumb against the reel like this. Bring the rod up so that the tip is just about level with your eyes. That’s it. Now, keep your elbow away from your body. No, no. That’s too far. Just a couple of inches or so. Use your elbow as a pivot and bring the rod up. Stop it when your thumb comes up even with your eyes and then snap forward with your wrist as you come down with your arm.”
Mike nodded. “All right. Let me try.”
Sandy stepped back and watched as Mike concentrated on his first cast. The light rod whistled back and sprang forward. But instead of coming out in an even play, the line fluttered from the reel and flew erratically over the water.
Mike shot a glance over at Sandy. “What did I do wrong?” he demanded.