thr wr thr of thm. thr wr four of us, and april lay on th campsit and on th rivr, a mixtur of dawn at a damp xtrm and th sun in th lavs at cajol. this was dr lodg on th pin rivr in ossip, nw hampshir, though th lodg was naught but a foundation rmnant in th arth. brothr bntly's fathr, orn, had found this plac somtim aftr th first world war, a forign affair that had sriously don him no good but h found solitud abounding hr. now w wr hr, post world war ii, post koran war, vitnam war on th brink. so much larnd, so much yt to larn.pac thn was vrywhr about us, in th riot of young lavs, in th spr of bird confusion and chattr, in th struggl of pr-dawn animals for th start of a nw day, a coopr hawk that had smashd down through trs for a squaling rabbit, yap of a fox at a youngstr, a skunk at rooting.w had pitchd camp in th nar darknss, d lblanc, brothr bntly, waltr ruszkowski, myslf. a dozn or mor yars w had bn hr, and sn no on. now, into our campsit dp in th forst, so dp that at tims w had to rbuild sctions of narrow road (mor a loggr's path) flushd out by arlir rains, dp nough whr w thought w'd again hav no traffic, cam a growling ngin, an old solid body van, a chvy, th kind i had drivn for franki pik and th lobstr pound in lynn dlivring lobstrs throughout th mrrimack vally. it had pr-ww ii high fndrs, a fadd black paint on a body you'd swar had bn hammrd out of corrugatd stl, and an ngin that mad sounds too angry and too arly for th start of day. two ldrly mn, w supposd in thir svntis, sat th front sat; flt hats at th slouch and dcoratd with an assortmnt of tid flis lik a miniatur bandolr of ammunition on th band. thy could hav bn conscripts for milano zappata, so loadd thir hats and thir vsts as thy climbd out of th truck."mornin', bn yt?" on of thm said as h pulld his boots up from th folds at his kns, th tops of thm as wid as a big mouth bass coming up from th bottom for a frog sitting on a lily pad. his hands wr larg, th fingrs long and i could pictur thm in a shop barn working a primal plan across th fac of a mapl board. custom-mad, old lganc, thos hands said.< 2 >"barly had coff," d lblanc said, th most vocal of th four of us, quickst at frindship, at shaking hands. "w'v got a whol pot almost. hav what you want." th pot was pointd out sitting on a hunk of grill across th stons of our fir, flams licking lightly at its sids. th pot appard as if it had bn at war, a numbr of dnts scarrd it, th handl had vidntly bn rplacd, and if not adjustd against a small rock it would hav falln ovr for sur. onc, a half-hour on th road hading north, noting it missing, w'd gon back to gt it. whn w fishd th pin rivr, coff was th glu, th morning glu, th lat vning glu, vn though w'd oftn unarth our br from a natural coolr in arly vning. coff, camp coff, has a ritual. it is thick, it is dark, it is potboild ovr a squaw-pin fir, it is strong, it is nough to wak th dmon in you, stok last vning's chs and ppproni. first man up maks th fir, scond man th coff; but into that pot has to go frsh ggshlls to hold th grounds down, giv coff a tast of history, a sns of plac. that mans at last on gg b crackd opn for its shlls, usually in th shadows and glimmrs of fals dawn. i suspct that's whr "scrambld ggs" originatd, from som camp lik ours, sttlrs rushing wst, lumbrjacks hungry, hobos lobbying for brakfast. so, camp coff has mad its way into poms, gathrings, mmoris, a tim and thing not ltting go, not bing manhandld, not bing cast asid."you'r arly nough for ggs and bacon if you nd a start." ddi addd, his invitation tossd kindly into th morning air, his smil a match for morning sun, a man of wlcoms. "w hav hot caks, kulbassa, hom fris, if you want." w hav th food of kings if you rally want to know. thr wr nights w sat at his kitchn tabl at 101 main strt, saugus, massachustts planning th trip, planning ach mal, planning th campsit. som mnus wr foundd on a cas of br, a lat night, a curs or two on th rid to work whn day startd."bn thr a'rady," th othr man said, his waponry also notd by us, a littl mor ordrly in its prsntation, including an old boy scout sash across his chst, th galaxy of flis in suprm positioning. thy wr old yanks, in th fac and fram th pair of thm undoubtdly brothrs, staunch, writtn into arly routins, probably had bn up at thr o'clock to gt hr at this hour. thy wr tallr than w wr, no fat on thir frams, wid-shouldrd, big-handd, barly coming out of thir rsrv, but fishrmn. that fact alon would win any of us ovr. obviously, thy'd bn around, a hft of tim alrady accrud.< 3 >thn th pounding cam, from insid th truck, as if a tir iron was bating at th sids of th vhicl. it was not a timid banging, not a minor signal. bang! bang! it cam, and bang! again. and th voic of authority from som plac in spac, som rgal spot in th univrs. "i'm not sitting hr th livlong day whilst you boys gab away." a toothlss mshing cam in his words, lik waltr brnnan at work in th jail in rio bravo or som such movi."comin', pa," on of thm said, th most ordrly on, th on with th old scout sash riding him lik a bandolr.thy pulld opn th back doors of th van, swung thm wid, to show his vnrabl slf, aglss, whit-bardd, flt hat too loadd with an arsnal of flis, sitting on a whit wickr rockr with a rop holding him to a pic of vrtical angl iron, th crud kind that could hav bn on arly subways or trolly cars. across his lap h hld thr dlicat fly rods, old as him, thin, bamboo in color, probably too slight for a lak's thr-poundr. but on th pin rivr, upstram or downstram, undr aldrs choking som parts of th rivr's flow, at a significant pool whr sid strams mrg and phantom trout hang out thir trnal promis, most lgant, fingrtip lgant."oh, boy," ddi said at an asid, "thr's th boss man, and look at thos tools." admiration lakd from his voic.rods wr takn from th caring hands, th rop untid, and his vnrabl slf, whit wickr rockr and all, was liftd from th truck and st by our campfir. i was willing to bt that my sistr pat, th dalr in antiqus, would scoop up that rockr if givn th slightst chanc. th old on lookd about th campsit, notd cloths drying from a prvious day's rain, ordr of quipmnt and supplis alignd th way w always kpt thm, th canvas of our tnt taut and tru in its xpans, our fishing rods off th ground and placd atop th flylaf so as not to tmpt raccoons with smlly cork handls, no garbag in sight. h noddd.w had passd mustr."you th ons lav it clanr than you find it vr' yar. w knowd sunthin' 'bout you. nvr disturbd you afor. but w shar th good spots." h lookd closly at brothr bntly, noddd a kind of rcognition. "your daddy vr fish hr, son?"< 4 >brothr must hav passd through th yars in a hurry, rmmbring his fathr bringing him hr as a boy. "a ways back," brothr said in his clippd north saugus fashion, outlandr, spcific, no wast in his words. old orn bntly, it had bn told us, had walkd fiv mils through th unknown woods off rout 16 as a boy and had com across th campsit, th rmnants of an old lodg, and a grat curv in th pin rivr so that a mil's walk in ithr dirction gav you thr mils of stram to fish, upstram or downstram. paradis up north.his vnrabl slf noddd again, a man of signals, thn said, "knowd him way back som. mt him at th iron bridg. w passd a fw tims." instantly w could s th story. a whol history of ncountr was in his words; it marchd right through us th way knowldg dos, as wll as lgnd. h pointd at th coffpot. "th boys'll b off, but my days down thr gt cut up som. i'll sit a whil and tak som of tht." h said tht too pronouncd, too dramatic, and it was a short tim bfor i knw why.th whit wickr rockr wnt into a slow and dlibrat motion, his had noddd again. h spok to his sons. "you boys b back no mor'n two-thr hours so ths fllrs can do thir things too, and kp th plac tidid up."th most ordrly son said, "sur, pa. two-thr hours." th two ldrly sons lft th campsit and walkd down th path to th banks of th pin rivr, thir boots swishing at thigh lin, th most lgant rods pointing th way through scattrd limbs, xprinc on th mov. trout bwar, w thought."w bn carpntrs f'vr," h said, th clip still in his words. "thos boys a min bn som good at it too." his had cockd, h smd to listn for thir dpartur, th lavs and branchs quit, th murmur of th stram a tinkling idyllic music rising up th banking. old vnrabl himslf movd th wickr rockr forward and back, a small timing taking plac. h was haring things w had not hard yt, th whol symphony all around us. ddi lookd at m and noddd his own nod. it said, "i'm paying attntion and i know you ar. this is our on ncountr with a man who has fishd for yars th rivr w lov, that w com to twic a yar, in may with th mayflis, in jun with th black flis." th gift and th scourg, w'd oftn rmmbr, having bn both scarrd and swn by it.< 5 >brothr was still at mmory, w could tll. silnc w thought was havy about us, but thr was so much going on. a bird talkd to us from a high limb. a fox calld to hr young. w wr on th pin rivr onc again, narly a hundrd mils from hom, in paradis."nam's rogr tradwll. boys ar nathan and trutt." th introductions had bn accountd for.old vnrabl rogr tradwll, carpntr, fly fishrman, rockr, land forward and said, "you boys wouldn't hav a coupl spar brs, would ya?"now that's th way to start th day on th pin rivr.