It was another fine afternoon. Dark clouds lingered on the horizon for the first time in ages, a thin veil obscuring the harsh sunlight and making it softer and gentler. Even the ever-present sea breeze had grown mild.
Today was perfect for fishing. Schiller took his gear and the artificial lure he had made the night before to the lakeside.
He walked down along the shore and, sure enough, spotted the neighbor who loved lure fishing upstream along the creek. When Schiller had delivered his invitation, he had learned that the man was named Fite, fifty-three years old, and a retired special engineer.
Schiller went over and struck up a conversation with Fite, opening with his housewarming party. Fite was clearly interested, saying he could bring along a big fish he had caught himself, and Schiller gladly agreed.
They then moved on to the day's main topic: fishing. According to Fite, the lake and creek boasted abundant fish stocks, especially where the river met the lake. Lure-fishing enthusiasts were never disappointed there.
He also stressed that only lure fishing was permitted in these waters. No kind of live bait could be cast in, which was his way of saying that anyone who could only catch fish by chumming the water should get lost early.
Schiller introduced himself and explained that he had been too busy with work to fish before. Recently, the school had moved, leaving him with more free time, so he had decided to develop a hobby.
Fite grew even more enthusiastic and began telling Schiller about his usual fishing spot: a jagged boulder on the southern side of the creek, directly along the fishes' migration route.
Then, somewhat puzzled, he said, "I don't know what's been going on lately, but the fish haven't been moving much. I