A thick, raw-cotton fog and cleansing rain gave the Smith River (Virginia) a surreal feel as I worshipped there Sunday morning. The stark image of two great blue herons, silhouetted against a luminous grey sky, mechanically pumping their wings before being swallowed by clouds of fog, gave my wet skin goose bumps. Perhaps these birds were searching for the dead brother that tempted me with fresh feathers before I left him to rest in peace on the bank. A smaller green heron scolded me for entering this dreamworld, where his piercing shriek echoed off the steep banks dense with vegetation.

Goose bumps again. The bright yet subdued sky light illuminated the moist green banks and the fog that limited vision to 30 yards or less upstream and down, although occasional gusts of cool wind blew it away, creating moments of intense clarity. A doe and fawn crossed a riffle and I stood motionless 35 yards downstream as the mother arched her neck and cocked her head on the opposite bank, ears erect and nose probing the air to make sense of me, her body always shielding the fawn from this vague danger. I waited one, two, then three minutes before taking a step; the deer pivoted and sprinted back across the stream, nimbly negotiating this rocky ford that I later struggled to cross in felt-soled boots.

The water sparkled and was ice cold to the touch, 51 degrees. A sinking black fur ant fished under an indicator tricked a small brown that jumped once by a downed sycamore trunk, and a 12-inch 'bow with a bright pink stripe that jumped twice. I was soaked to the bone but most satisfied before I quit at noon with images burned into my brain by this unusual light show that today makes me wishful there will be a sequel someday.

Rob Tucker
rtucker@runet.edu
Radford University
Radford, Va.