IN THE BELLY of the eleven-floor dormitory, my knuckles thumped on Mark’s door. He had a mischievous smile when he opened, turned to his desk, and clutched a miniature fly rod barely longer than his hand. “My parents got me this for Christmas,” he said, stripping off some thread. “The reel works and everything. We need an aquarium.”
Three rules governed Aber Hall: no alcohol, no guests of opposite genitalia after 9 p.m., and no pets.. But the movie omitted winter shots of Norman Maclean’s beloved Big Blackfoot, when jagged pieces of ice jam the river. A stocked aquarium might just carry us through to skwala season.
