Their movements resembled something like the tongue of an electric beast... - Dolan Geiman
As a child I thumbed through my grandfathers old Outdoor Life magazines, reading the illustrated tales of fishermen plying the high Rocky Mountain streams and wild Idaho rivers. I dreamed at night of richly colored trout, fish that looked as if they had been dipped in the very marrow of the rainbow and then dropped, wriggling, into crystal blue waters. Their movements resembled something like the tongue of an electric beast, darting to and fro beneath the passing clouds. I always wanted to swim with them, to feed them hellgrammites on the end of a silver fork, to listen to them recount tales of their many adventures, spoken in their cryptic underwater trout-speech. Somewhere, sometime, I am going to meet up with tiny these dinosaur fish, and when I tell them about my journey to find them they will laugh small pink bubbles and wink and lead me back into my dream.