Bruce Dexter's all-male fishing sextet on a seven-day outing to a hidden lake in Nevada is a tight little story that is occasionally intense but never profound. And while the personality twists that impel men to go fishing are rendered skillfully, the actual quality of the experience is scanted. (For instance, not a single fish is described, nor handled and cleaned and gutted, nor is a fight to land one.) In any event, the trip is a disaster as a vacation. Two of the men are guides, one a disillusioned ex-insurance salesman who recently was in an accident in which a movie goddess was killed. He's out to recover his soul, or perhaps just his animal vigor. The doctor who attended him is also on the trip. The fourth man is merely the plot's patsy, while the last two men are electronics bigshots. The trip deteriorates into boyish fighting and namecalling since one of the bigshots is too bored to enjoy himself otherwise. There are some final moments of wisdom and then the story evaporates like the morning dew...Not enough bait on the hook, and a few more sinkers would have helped.