I froze, my mouth wide open. The rusty old reel sang like a soprano as the fish streaked through the water peeling line as if my reel were a mere bobbin on my mother's sewing machine. My old hand-me-down rod bent to the breaking point. With a 'twang'� an eyelet popped loose and spun around the line before it fell against the one below. The line pulsed and throbbed. I hung on.

I had never before hooked a fish this size. His strength frightened me. For one panicky moment I wondered if I'd be able to hold onto him, and if I did, would my rickety rod and reel hold up? I eased my back into the weight of him a little at a time fearing for the welfare of my rod. He continued to strip line with impunity. Like an epiphany it came to me how weak and inadequate my skinny I wanted no part of that mighty monster, but I swallowed hard, dug in my heels, and held on.

The fish vaulted into the air shaking its head like a dog with a sock. I caught a glimpse of a broad red stripe. A rainbow. A giant rainbow! I sucked air. My heart jumped into my throat. The big rainbow broke water again swapping ends like a cart wheeling acrobat. Again and again, he came out of the water each leap more frenzied than the one before.

My chest began to hurt, and I realized I was holding my breath as he sped back and forth. Up river, down river, he tore, leaping, twisting, flipping, like an Olympic athlete performing a floor exercise.

My arms and shoulders burned. My left hand felt as if it were permanently welded to the handle of my rod, but I gritted my teeth and held on. At last he floundered and rolled in the shallow water a few yards out. He tried another run, but stopped after several feet. I sensed victory and let out a whoop. I pulled my rod tip up high, then lowered it, cranking fast and furious on my old reel, then repeated the maneuver.

Finally, after over thirty hard fought minutes that seemed like hours, I managed to guide the exhausted trout into shallow water where I could wade out and capture him.

How beautiful he was, gleaming in the morning sun like precious metal. In awe I ran my fingers down the bright red stripe and admired his hard muscled body. I looked into his eyes and he held my gaze like the bold, dauntless warrior he was. I heard the cry of a Red-Tail Hawk and I looked up, my chest swelling.

My entire being trembled. I could barely close my left hand. Not an iota of strength was left in my body, but I had prevailed. I had hooked and landed the biggest, hardest-fighting, rainbow trout in the McKenzie River. The thrill coursed through me like a shock wave. Wait'll Dad sees him. Wait'll my friends see him. I'll be the envy of the neighborhood. I'll have him mounted, and I'll hang him on my bedroom wall.

Then it hit me. In my fervor I had forgotten that the McKenzie River is a wild trout stream. I couldn't keep any rainbow trout over fourteen-inches. Rainbows that size had to be released for breeding purposes. My prize was at least twenty inches. Disappointment rose like bile in my throat. I shook my head and choked back bitter tears. 'No. No,'� I moaned. 'I can't let him go.'� Not now. I caught him. He's mine! Besides, nobody would believe I had caught a twenty-inch rainbow if I couldn't bring him home as proof. I could hear my friends laughing and jeering. 'You caught a twenty-inch rainbow and threw him back? Sure you did.'� My excitement gave way to disappointment.

My mind raced. I could sneak home with him wrapped in my T-shirt. I could wait until after dark. I could get my friends to help. But how could I justify to my dad that I had kept an illegal fish? I couldn't think about it. My fishing privileges were too precious to me, and I knew that Dad would ground me in a second if he thought that I even contemplated keeping the trout.

Resigning myself to the inevitable, I lowered the trout of my dreams into the water and stepped back. He turned immediately onto his side his eyes unfocused and blank. The huge gill flaps barely moved. 'He's dying!'� I exclaimed. Then it came to me. I could say I hadn't been able to revive him, that it would have been a waste not to bring him home. But I knew I couldn't face my father or myself if I lied. I had to try to save him.

I reached for the great trout, but he must have been 'playing possum'� because with a flick of his broad tail be righted himself, paused momentarily, his gill flaps moving as if he were catching his breath, then slowly, regally swam out of the shallows and disappeared like a phantom into the deep, green waters of the river.

I stood there for a long time feeling the warm sun on the back of my neck as I stared at the swirling patterns in the water and listened to the melody of the river.

I have never felt more proud of myself.

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