Charlie's gossip was still accurate, and after a brief lunch, they rested for half an hour, and the regimental commander came over and announced that the boys with the fly-fishing medal could participate in the afternoon fly-fishing.

Because of the proximity of both schools to the Rio Grande, there were quite a few fly-fishing medals, less than a third of the remainder, who would go with their instructors to the nearby bushes and woods to peel dry moss, collect branches for burning, pick wild berries and forage for mushrooms.

Two new volunteers, residents of the original village, arrived at their camp around 2 p.m. with a dozen fishing rods.

They stood in the water of the river beach in the order of head, middle, and tail, with the boys, dressed in water trousers, and kept the necessary distance, standing among them.

"Remember to shout loudly when the fish comes up," said the regimental commander, "watch your feet, look up and down at any time, and see where you have gone," he said, wring his eyebrows, "and not allowed to go where the water can go above your waist, and even less stand on a protruding stone!"

Boa. Douglas scoffed. He was at the end of the second section, and next to him was a volunteer, Beelzebub and Sasha were placed in the first section, close to the regimental leader, and Charlie, with brown eyes, in the second place, and in front of the third volunteer.

"There's trout, perch, salmon and sturgeon, you name it." "We got three permits, each for four sturgeons and salmon, 16 to 18 inches for salmon and 13 to 15 inches for sturgeon," said the regiment commander, "I'll take measurements for you," he said slyly, "no thanks."

In other words, there is a limit to the number of fish that can be taken back, and there is almost only one person in the distribution, if someone exceeds this number. That means someone has to go home empty-handed.

The river was gentle, and the deepest part of the river had already been walked by, and it was determined that it was only up to the chest of an adult, and the water was no more than knees in the place where they were flying. But even so, standing in the clear water like nothing, you can still feel the clear thrust.

The regimental commander and the volunteers were empty-handed. The children looked at the fish, they looked at the children.

When it comes to fly fishing, Beelzebub and Sasha have completely different styles.

Beelzebub didn't like to move, so he stood in the shallows, letting the current hit his calves, and he chose metal full wheels and butterfly brakes with one-way bearings for the rods brought by the new volunteers. The flying line uses a rocket line and has a backup line. His gesture of swinging the rod was firm and direct, without a hint of gimmicky – the line was taut by a straightened one, and then the rod was suddenly thrown out with a "whirring" sound in the air, and the tip of the flying line resembling a rocket, hence the name, drew a letter "q" in the air - the river flowed forward as always. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, Beelzebub took two steps forward, and with full concentration, the floating white bait floated and sank on the dark gray-green water...... That is, a small cluster of reverse splashes jumped out, and swallowed the bait with one mouth!

"The fish are coming!" He shouted, and several of the anglers who were close to him immediately retracted their rods.

It's a big fish. Beelzebub's rod immediately bent and creaked, the line straightened, and the fish jumped out of the water with a thud and plunged into the water, and Beelzebub turned the fly fishing wheel to release the line, and the fish fluttered and flapped its body on the surface of the river. Pulling out a snow-white wavy line, Beelzebub retracted it, the line getting shorter and shorter, and the straightness was terrifying—the fish was pulled out of the water, and Beelzebub grabbed it. Sitting on a stone and taking off the hook, the regimental commander walked over and measured him, and it was good luck, an eighteen-inch salmon, a blue fish with black spots with small yellow circles on the outside, and a snow-white belly.

"Do you want to continue?" The regimental commander said as he watched the boy put the fish into the fish basket on his back.

"Of course."

They returned to their original position, Sasha had re-placed the line and was walking forward, swinging the rod skillfully as he went, flying the line from right to left, flying to the left shoulder, from the left shoulder around the back, turning back to the right front, the bait swirling around him in the air, as beautiful as an acrobat or a dancer's streamer. The regimental commander stared at him to see if he had crossed the prescribed waterline, and he stood close to the groin, the spin stopped, the line was flung out, and the bait flew rapidly over the surface of the water like a real moth or dragonfly, and a large mouth as greedy as before pounced on it and swallowed it.

In stark contrast to his appearance, he handled it even more brutally than Beelzebub - he didn't even give his prey much chance to struggle, and only one time went back and forth, and the unfortunate fish was carried high by the flying line and almost smashed on Beelzebub's head.

At this time, his echo of "the fish is coming" was still swaying back and forth between the valleys.

"It's a sturgeon. But it's a pity. The size does not match. The regimental commander said, checking the fish's mouth: "You are a rough little fellow." He shook his head, took the dark gray cone-shaped fish in both hands, and lowered it into the water.

It immediately shook its head and tail, and fled lively.

Before they could feel sorry enough, a shout suddenly came from the front.

It was Charlie, the thin boy who struggled to move through the water, following the direction of the current, his hands clenched on his fishing rod.

About thirty feet in front of him, the water was boiling like a pot.

"It's a big fish." Beelzebub said.

Charlie followed as he laid the line, and he also looked to the side and waist to see where the water was and the stones that protruded from the water around him. His whole body was involuntarily leaning back, and his hat fell into the water.

The rod was bent into a U-shape, and the fish came out of the water, and sure enough, it was a big fish, shining silver—the water was already up to Charlie's waist, and he was still holding on.

Suddenly there was a slip under his feet, and he fell into the water, where there was a difference in elevation, and the river was churning, and among the snow-white splashes they could only see the fishing rod that was still stubbornly erected above the water. The volunteer standing at the front was coming, but he couldn't keep up with the speed of the river for the time being.

"Give up that fish," shouted the village volunteers, "give up that fishing rod."

Beelzebub handed the fishing rod to Sasha, and Charlie was going down the river, passing them in a matter of seconds.

The regimental commander suddenly reached out and pressed his shoulder.

There was obvious anxiety on his face, but his eyes were very determined.

Not far away was a rock, the size of their tent, and the rod passed over there, and then a hand came out of the water—swallowed up again by the splash, but the rod was still held high—and the next moment Charlie suddenly came out of the water, and he stood up and walked towards the shallow part of the riverbank, turning the flyreel as he went.

"Good fellow," cried the regimental commander with joy, "he's reeling in the line!"

Charlie was reeling in the line, and Sasha and Beelzebub gave way to him, and he drew closer and closer to the riverbank, and without any help, he finally pulled the big fish up.

The fish was about the length of his entire upper body, with a black back, but it was neither salmon nor sturgeon, and even if it was, it was the size of the fish that meant it to be put back, but Charlie was not discouraged, even if he never caught a fish since.

Fly fishing was physically demanding, and after about two hours, the scouts had set up a bonfire by collecting firewood and moss, and the big solid iron pot used by the scouts was taken out, and the fish caught today were washed and put into the pot, salt and pepper were added, and the mushrooms they found tasted like never before.

Beelzebub and Sasha checked the campfire, garbage, inside and outside the tent again before going to bed, and urged the team to spray insect repellent, which was very popular with the team members because it smelled good and protected against insects much more than the pungent insect repellent.

While everyone was trying to get a good night's sleep, someone had an accident again.

Charlie was Boa. Douglas rushed out.

He was barefoot, wearing only a vest and shorts, his hair unkempt and disheveled.

The volunteers in the village have returned, and there are only instructors and group leaders.

"Douglas!" The instructor was so annoyed that he and the children walked in the woods for almost an afternoon, no less tired than the regiment leader and two other volunteers from the village: "What's wrong with you?!"

"I didn't think much." Bao'er shrugged her shoulders and showed a sour, smelly smile: "What's wrong with someone."

"I just found out," said Boa, "this fellow," he pointed to the boy who was shivering in the late night wind with his tiptoes, "and it's a homosexual."

"You see," he said without hesitation, "I have to make sure that my ass and that of the team are safe enough."

((One second to remember)