RAINBOW RATTLERS The morning mist was creeping through the pine trees along the river. Buster, Dad and I were flyfishing along the upper reaches of the Snake River in Yellowstone. Dad, worrying as usual, gave us our pre-fishing lecture.
"Be careful of the drop-offs and swift currents, boys."
"Keep an eye out for grizzlies and rattlesnakes."
Buster was deathly afraid of snakes. I didn't help his phobia. I thought snakes were very interesting reptiles and enjoyed examining them. I'd chased him with rubber and garter snakes, just to be ornery. When Dad mentioned snakes, Buster switched into action. His attention was divided between his casts, the slippery footing, scanning the hillside for bear and the grass for snakes. I was impressed by the way he multi-tasked.
I bushwhacked around behind him to fish a riffle upstream. In the process, I brushed a rattlesnake weed and the pods rattled. Buster sprang into action. He commenced to do the 'Riverdance'. While turning in circles he thrashed the water with his pole. Water splashed in every direction. I stood there flabbergasted. It reminded me of the Bellagio fountain show. He could have choreographed livelier music into the act.
"Uh, uh, Oh, oh, Ee, ee, Ah, ah!"
"Splash, kick, stomp, splash!"
"Snaaa, snaaa, Snaake!"
A splitshot case flew out of his vest pocket. It dropped down between his legs and he hacky-sacked it up and down his waders. The clatter was comparatively close to a rattler. My rascal bone acted up. I grabbed the snakeweed and rattled it along with the beat of the flypole. My rendition was added to his performance and I began to shake with the beat.
"Rattle, rattle, hiss, hiss, rattle, rattle!"
"Uh, uh, Oh, oh, Ee, ee, Ah, ah!"
"Spash, splash, bump, splash, bump, bump!"
"Snaaa, snaa, Snaake!"
Much to my dismay Dad appeared around the bend. He noticed Buster in the middle of the river putting on his show. A surprised look appeared on his face. He was Dumbfounded by the aqueous escapade.
"Buster! What on earth is going on?"
"Wha, wha, What?"
The yell from Dad snapped the grip of the watersnake trance. Buster looked at Dad sheepishly. His fishing line was tangled all over his pole and upper body while the splitshot case floated down the river. I burst out in laughter and tears streamed down my cheeks. Buster waded out of the river, totally drenched and exhausted. He collapsed on a log and hung his head. Dad gave me a dirty look and bent over Buster, comforting him.
"That's enough fishing for this morning." He announced. "Let's go have breakfast."
Buster led the way up through the brush toward the road.
"TDTDTDTDTDTDTDTDTDTDT!"
