The fall had been extremely wet and unusually warm, much like this one. We, Harry and I, had been planning a fishing trip to the river where Harry had been catching some big carp and I had been interested in accompanying him and learning about carp fishing. But every time we planned to go, it would rain again.

Finally, an early November Saturday came when a warm sun greeted us and so our often delayed plans were put into action and Harry came to the back door calling. He never knocked on the door but instead climbed into the first big crotch of our apple tree and just yelled “Richard!”

When my mother finally figured out where the voice was coming from she alerted me. The plan called for me riding Harry on the handlebars of my bicycle to a big gate over on Avenue “D” and he would show me the way from there.

When the two-mile bike ride was completed, Harry swung down from the handlebars and opened the gate. We went through, closed the gate and hid my bicycle in the tall weeds before I noticed the big flooded field in front of us and blocking our way to the river some quarter of a mile away.

But before I could even question our apparent need to wade the rest of the way to the river a loud, sharp whistle burst from Harry’s lips. Surprised, I sought the reason for such an outburst. Then, before I could ask, a second loud whistle emerged from my friend and a distant loud splashing on the far side of the watery barrier revealed a large horse galloping toward us.

“Get up on the gate,” Harry ordered, producing an apple (snagged from the tree by my back door). “This is Old Billy, a friend of mine,” he explained, leading the animal to the gate where he and I could both swing over on his back. Harry then produced a second apple and directed our “four-footed taxi” to head out across the flooded field.

Much to my surprise, Old Billy waded steadily across the water to slightly higher ground and near the river. At Harry’s “whoa” command, the animal let us jump down. I still held our two fishing rods and a can of night crawlers. And about then I began to wonder how close to Harry’s fishing hole we were and how we would get back to my bike when we needed to go home.

“Actually,” Harry smiled, “I met Old Harry one of the last times I was here and I guess he remembered where I’d been before. “As to how we get back,” he continued, “we might have to walk down the river shore and back along the road.” But by then he was checking his rod and selecting a big worm to cast into the river.   Since he showed little concern, I followed suit and prepared to fish as he was doing.

The water was deep and fast from all the recent rain and fishing was very difficult. But since our recent times on the river or anywhere else where we fished were few and far between, we kept at it until well into the afternoon.    Then, as we began to talk about supper and the lack of hungry fish, I noticed that Old Billy was nowhere to be seen and I began to prepare for a long and perhaps wet walk all the way around that big flooded field.

Harry to the rescue! Another loud whistle burst forth followed by a distant whinny and the splashing return of our “taxi”.

“But you don’t have any more apples,” I protested.

“Yes I do,” he said, triumphantly holding two more of the fruit he’d heisted from our tree. “Oh yes I do!”

And so, believe it or not, Old Billy generously carried us back across those waters for just the price of four apples.

On that day, if Harry didn’t show a particularly great knowledge of carp, he certainly showed off some knowledge of horses!