Tyler Corke
Chapter 2
No Name River #4, BC
By Jeff Mishler

Lunchtime
I angled the sled into some quiet water at the head of Patterson’s Run and came off step.  I nestled the bow in behind a band of rocks and Tyler dropped the anchor off the bow, gave it about two fathoms of scope and put a figure eight at the cleat.  I shut down the motor, set the tiller arm upright and locked the motor in line with the hull.  Tyler was already elbows deep in the cooler, setting aside a pile of raw meat and spicy fix-ns.

“You wanna cook now and fish later?”  He asked.

“Yeah. Give it a rest since we just ran the boat over it.”  

Tyler worked a battered old-school Weber up through the hatch of the bulkhead and set it down on the sloped foredeck of the sled ahead of the compartment seats.  Without hesitating he pulled a Plano fly box stuffed with 6-inch long string leeches from the front pocket of his wading jacket and slid it under the lower leg, leveling out the barbecue perfectly.

“Now that’s what I’m talking about!” he yells over the roar of the river.  Tyler dumps a pile of briquettes onto the grate and soaks the works with charcoal lighter fluid, spraying more of it on the deck of the sled than into the barbecue.
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