El Gran Catan V

FRONTeras Magazine Vol. 2 No. 1 Issue

The colors by the water were bold, and the sun rays bounced off the water like glass.  There were waves of purple blended with pink and yellow along the horizon.  The bells were ringing loud.  Horacio was sweating. His heart was beating as he reeled in.  He remembered to layer his breathing between pulls.  He felt tired as he rotated his wrist to push the paddle forward, as he opened the bail arm, the spool spun loose, and the line ran.  He closed the bail and waited.  The line stopped running.  He waited for movement.

He felt a strong tug, and he pushed the handle forward, then up.  The line was screaming. The bell was louder than a train whistle.  He moved back to create space between him and the fish.  He walked toward the other rod, picked it up, and in a quick movement opened the spool and tucked the rod under his left arm.  He continued to reel the screaming line.  He was working short, deliberate movements.

The sun had set and he felt thirsty. He grabbed his old mug and took a long drink of the Folgers with heavy cream.  The flavor always invigorated him.  He worked up two quick rotations and the splash was loud.  So loud and so close. The drops of water from the splash lingered on his hands and face. He knew he was close. He continued to run the handle forward. Each turn became more difficult.  He felt the pressure again another abrupt splash and the fish was swiveling.  The line was screaming. The foam around the splash created ripples that made the layers of water wave and slam at his feet.

He looked over his shoulder and saw the moon. He wondered how long he had been reeling in.  Reeling in was always a delicate moment, balancing patience, strength, and precision.  One wrong move, one impulse could bust the line and lose the fight. He remembered a time where he loosened the drag on a giant, and poof the line busted, and the hours of battle with the catan were wasted.  He played that moment in his mind over and over like a loss at a baseball game with small error that became critical in losing a championship.

He continued to focus, muttering, "aqui te traigo cabron, ya eres mio."  He quickly spun the handle for another tug closer to him. He had a visual of the top of its body as the catan rose with the pull.  It was a big one. He walked two steps backward and noticed the gleam of the light of the moon was now above him.  He heard the occasional whistle and song of the line.  He noticed his veins were bulging and his fingers were blue.  He'd forgotten to loosen some of line off of his finger.  He liked leaving a part of his body on the line, almost like an IV connecting him to the animal he was catching.

He reeled in some more and he knew he was close.  He put all of his strength into the base of the rod and took a breath using his stomach.  He reeled and he felt the catan rise up. He glided it left then right reeling between movements.  It was close to him.  He continued to reel slowly. He got the catan to his feet.

@Martie Garcia Vela

@Martie

Copyright 2026 Martie Garcia Vela for FRONTeras. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten, or redistributed.

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