Scales

Chapter Twenty-six

The sun shone brightly across my wide wings as I glided high over the forest below. Even though it would be risky due to me being in broad daylight, I wanted to see the lakes Rusty had mentioned so badly. In addition, based on my experience last night with the hare, I was confident I'd be able to catch some moist, tasty fish, which were rich in protein, fat, and other healthy nutrients that mammal meat couldn't provide.

My biggest problem was the number of people who'd be vacationing out on the lake. Whether on the shore or out in their boats, they'd certainly spot me dive-bombing for any fish I'd detect swimming too close to the surface. Then they'd report it, and the police would come looking for me. Maybe even the SWAT team! I definitely did not want that to happen.

I could simply wait until sundown and then go hunt. But without a good meal, I'd starve for the rest of the day and have no energy left to catch my food, let alone fly. Sometimes you have to give up your safety for your mere survival.

I continued flying up north for a good two kilometers, making a few fun-filled speedy maneuvers while at it. Spotting a thin blue line on the eastern horizon indicating the presence of a lake, I banked to the right and flew straight towards it.

The wide bright blue expanse of Lake Tahoe came into view as I closed in on the thin blue horizontal line. Using common sense and a bit of strategy, I slowed down upon approach and flew in a quick circle around the lake's perimeter, taking notes of the activity I saw going on down on or by the water below.

Five boats out on the surface, spaced well apart. Three of them motorboats. Around a hundred and fifty people stood on the lake's southern shores, many of them playing or lounging on the shore's large sandy beach. Along the eastern and western shorelines ran a narrow highway, similar to the route Jack had driven on. What was most interesting, though, was the fact that just beyond the southern shore lay a whole community, like a whole town. And there existed another one further north on the lake's western shore. Yet all around were kilometers and kilometers of forest and mountainous peaks.

"How odd," I thought, turning my gaze to the eastern shore. Down there lay the dry, hot expanse of the state of Nevada, where, somewhere along the endless highways, my radio chat buddy Rusty Ratchet was cruising on his way to pick up or deliver a truck load. With a good pre-flight exercise and a well-fed stomach I could sneak across the border and cross the desert areas in about three hours or so. Beyond the desert lay the big cities such as Henderson, Reno, and Las Vegas. I'd never been to Las Vegas but Cody had said you could find the world's biggest parties, dance halls, and casinos there, not to mention the top luxury hotels in all of America.

At the moment, I just wanted some good, juicy-fleshed fish. Circling the lake again at a slower speed, I observed the boats closely to see how they were respecting each other's space, and also if they were dropping any anchors or trawl nets, which could end up snatching me as well with their huge size. Being trapped in a fishing net underwater was by far the most horrifying way to die.

Thankfully, all of the boats had simple fishing poles and no large nets. Most likely such nets were illegal to use in the lake.

Hovering briefly, I then observed the fishermen themselves for a good half hour, paying close attention to what fish they caught, which men caught the most fish, and which patch of water those successful men had positioned themselves. I soon spotted one man on his small motorboat who had caught ten fish in just twenty minutes. I grinned enviously. Clearly, he had the best vantage point.

With my cue object sealed, I sighed. To catch fish, I'd have to fly straight out over the lake – right in plain view of just about everyone on shore. This would be it, no turning back.

"I hope you all will respect me after this, dear humanity," I muttered, flapping my wings hard to get a quick burst of oh-so-enjoyable speed. The trees' green below me gave way to bright blue, and I soared over the lake at a slow speed. It didn't take long to spot the little man in his little boat. Now that I was lower and thus closer, I could see how he caught the fish so repeatedly. There were hundreds of them, moving in a school just below the surface, their wavy fins just visible through the lake's rippling surface.