Old Rocks
Diamond Member
All of us have experianced the disapointment of going back to someplace that had special meaning for us, and finding that because of the lack of someone, or something, that the feel of the place was no longer the same. A place that existed for us in a special time, which cannot be brought back and experianced again.
Yet, once in a while, we can go back, if only for a brief time. I experianced this last weekend. There is a special place for me where I spent a couple of summers and one winter at the headwaters of the John Day River when I was about 12 years old. Although I milked the cow, and kept care of rabbits, helped with the garden and chickens, there was still plenty of time for my brother and myself to spend time on the river, just a medium sized creek at that point, fishing. We caught enough fish that every Friday we had a fish dinner, and there was plenty for a family of eight. Rainbow, cutthroat, and Bull Trout, which we called Dolly Varden, then. Occasionaly, a Whitefish.
I often told my wife about those times, which she considered exagerated, considering my age at the time. Plus the fact that I hardly have been fishing in our marriage of 36 years. So last weekend, we went to look at some property, and I decided that I would re-aquinte myself with that stretch of river. I talked the wife into accompanying me across the fields that were flood irrigated. She decided to the rub in her opinion of the whole operation by timing me. Said she wanted to see how long it took me to even get a bite in that little creek.
I threaded the worm on the hook, and threw in well above a hole to bring the bait into the hole at the proper depth. Almost immediatly the bait was taken, and I flipped a nice 14 inch Cutthroat out onto the bank. My wife looked at her watch in disbelief. From time of cast to fish on bank, 35 seconds. Within an hour, I had caught another 12 inch Cutthroat, and a 15, 16, and 18 inch Bull Trout. The Bull Trout I released as they are trying to re-establish them in the river. We cooked the Cutthroats, with my wife insisting that she did not really like fish that much. Just enough to eat half the larger fish, and a portion of the smaller one.
The smell of the river, the fight of the trout in small waters, the sun and shade on the water, it renewed so many memories that had lain dormant for over 50 years. Sometimes you can go home, even if just for a short time.
Yet, once in a while, we can go back, if only for a brief time. I experianced this last weekend. There is a special place for me where I spent a couple of summers and one winter at the headwaters of the John Day River when I was about 12 years old. Although I milked the cow, and kept care of rabbits, helped with the garden and chickens, there was still plenty of time for my brother and myself to spend time on the river, just a medium sized creek at that point, fishing. We caught enough fish that every Friday we had a fish dinner, and there was plenty for a family of eight. Rainbow, cutthroat, and Bull Trout, which we called Dolly Varden, then. Occasionaly, a Whitefish.
I often told my wife about those times, which she considered exagerated, considering my age at the time. Plus the fact that I hardly have been fishing in our marriage of 36 years. So last weekend, we went to look at some property, and I decided that I would re-aquinte myself with that stretch of river. I talked the wife into accompanying me across the fields that were flood irrigated. She decided to the rub in her opinion of the whole operation by timing me. Said she wanted to see how long it took me to even get a bite in that little creek.
I threaded the worm on the hook, and threw in well above a hole to bring the bait into the hole at the proper depth. Almost immediatly the bait was taken, and I flipped a nice 14 inch Cutthroat out onto the bank. My wife looked at her watch in disbelief. From time of cast to fish on bank, 35 seconds. Within an hour, I had caught another 12 inch Cutthroat, and a 15, 16, and 18 inch Bull Trout. The Bull Trout I released as they are trying to re-establish them in the river. We cooked the Cutthroats, with my wife insisting that she did not really like fish that much. Just enough to eat half the larger fish, and a portion of the smaller one.
The smell of the river, the fight of the trout in small waters, the sun and shade on the water, it renewed so many memories that had lain dormant for over 50 years. Sometimes you can go home, even if just for a short time.
