Chapter 27
Korren
We’re up early the next morning. Well-stocked with food and mosquito repellant, we make our way down to the harbor to meet Rowan. The town is quiet, the morning light glowing soft on the mountains, and I can’t think of a more beautiful place to live.
Rowan waves to us from the end of one of the crowded piers. His hair is tied back in a messy bun, as usual, and his well-used fishing gear is at odds with his polished appearance.
“I have fishing licenses for all of us,” Rowan says as we follow him past row after row of fishing dinghies. “My cousin isn’t a commercial fisher—he got his boat for birding expeditions into the Copper River Delta.”
“He guides tours, doesn’t he?” Dex asks.
“Yep, that’s the one.”
When we finally reach the boat, I’m surprised at how nice it is. Given where we are, I’d expected something a bit more rugged. But it’s a fancy jet-boat with a cockpit big enough to fit a small group—there are benches and chairs for us to sit on, with a table so we can eat our breakfast in comfort.
I claim the forward-facing bench at the table, and even though there are plenty of seats to choose from, Dex slides in opposite me, our legs tangling together.
“You were planning on feeding us, right?” Dex jokes.
“Now that you mention it, I might have raided the bakery on my way past…”
Rowan produces a bag loaded with a dozen different pastries. He’s got a big thermos of coffee, too, so Dex and I enjoy a virtual feast as Rowan starts the engine and guides us out of the harbor.
“Who d’you have covering the shop today?” Dex asks around a mouthful of apple strudel.
“Just a new guy I’ve hired. I’m trialing longer opening hours at the moment, and it’s too big a day for me to work by myself when I’ve already been up early for the baking shift.”
“Good for you,” Dex says.
“Did you want us to save anything for you before we devour it all?” I ask Rowan, because we’re dangerously close to demolishing the breakfast.
Rowan laughs. “No, I ate on the walk over. You can’t beat croissants fresh out of the oven.”
Soon we’re past the harbor, and I can’t focus on anything except the view. As soon as we leave Copper Creek behind, the dark forest swallows the coast, with snow-dappled mountains looming behind.
By the time we reach the Copper River Delta and turn inland again, I haven’t seen any sign of civilization in a while.
I saw the delta on my flight into Copper Creek—a sprawling expanse of vivid green cut through by a network of meandering rivers.
From the water, I can only see the banks of the river we start jetting up, but the mountains remain a constant presence, rising steep-walled in a line where the flat basin ends.
As we skim our way deeper into the delta, Dex comes around to sit beside me so he doesn’t have to look out the window backward. Which is once again unnecessary, since the seat I’m on is cramped with the two of us and there are plenty of others to choose from.
I decide to believe he’s doing it just so he can be close to me.
As a bit of a test, I leave one hand resting on my leg close to his, wondering if he’ll try to hold it.
He doesn’t, but he puts his own hand on his own leg close enough that our knuckles brush together.
And I swear he reaches out one finger and grazes the back of my hand.
Fuck, I wish he would just hold my hand. I refuse to do it myself, but if he does, I’m not going to object.
To my disappointment, there is no handholding on the boat ride.
It feels like several hours have passed before Rowan backs the boat onto a riverbank and we climb out onto a stretch of sandy ground.
“Have you been fly fishing before?” Rowan asks me as he offloads supplies.
“Yeah,” I say. It was years ago, when I was about ten years old, but I won’t mention that bit.
“There are pretty strict rules around fishing here,” Rowan says. “I’ll need to identify anything we catch before we decide if we can keep it, and we’ll stick with one fish each. There’s a restaurant in town that will cook them up for us tonight once we’re back.”
“That’s a fucking good idea,” Dex says, while my stomach twists at the thought of spending money on something as frivolous as eating out.
Rowan gets us set up with waders and rods, and I watch out of the corner of my eye to see how far they’re casting out and whether they use any special technique.
Soon I’m casting without thinking about it, mostly soaking in the serene majesty of this very special place.
As the day goes on, I find myself dreaming about longer trips into the delta—apparently there’s a massive glacier at the top, and there are hiking trails all around the region.
I wonder if you can raft any of the rivers here. That would be incredible.
It isn’t until we stop for lunch that I realize it’s the first time in almost a year that I’ve dreamed of the future with even a scrap of excitement. Until now, I’ve just been surviving. Living day by day, trying my best not to backslide.
It seems Copper Creek is exactly the right place for me.