The Hunt
by Logan Williams
Newport, OR
Tim and Asher threw the paddles and seat cushions into the canoe. Alexander grabbed the guns and loaded them into the kayak as I launched the canoe into the stream. Fifteen minutes later, we paddled through the small wetland, looking intently for any sign of nutria. The sun had just emerged through the trees on the edge of the swamp, but the air retained its frigid temperature.
Alexander rowed ahead, as Tim, Asher and I bumbled along in our poorly-coordinated paddling effort. We were admiring the fishing qualities of a bend in the stream when we first heard a gunshot. It sounded fairly far off, and was immediately followed by five more. With newfound determination we cooperated in our paddle strokes and rowed double-time upstream.
As we rounded the bend, we saw Alexander running from the bank of the swamp into the kayak. He had rowed to the opposite side of the stream when we pulled up.
“It was like a Hollywood moment. I shot six times, and missed every time. The last one grazed him, I think, but he ran off.”
We didn’t see any more nutria that day.
