Every Day in May Challenge Topic for Today: Memory

Every Day in May Writer’s Challenge Topics List Day by Day

My youngest son, at 9 years old, already comfortable in a tube and catching fish bigger than I catch today. I got him there, prepared him, nurtured him, encouraged and praised. He gave me a memory. (1999)

This is difficult…’memory’? Do I recount the many blessed memories on the water, in the outdoors? Or discuss my dwindling recollection capacity of late. On one end the memories are coming in and on the other end, there is a leak of sorts. The memories fade and some stay prominent for whatever reasons.

Fortunately, I have glimpses of memories of my own early fly fishing. Small, brief snippets of narrow, intimate streams with overhanging trees, little pockets beneath the tree harboring Cutthroat Trout. I can see the trout slashing upward to take the fly. The process was simpler then: rubberized canvas hip boots, a box, an inexpensive Sears & Roebuck “Ted Williams” rod/reel. I made due with the waters my dad took me near while camping. There were no day trips. Fishing was confined to camping outings, year to year.

Later, I would be in charge of my own destiny and memory creation. Fishing at times was three times a week. Day outings for Steelhead, Salmon and Trout were frequent and productive. Camping, always by selected waters was and still is the norm. Backpacking was for an end point of Brook Trout. A hike had a pack, hiking boots and a fly rod. Joyful, productive, full of memories for sure.

My youngest son a few years back on East Lake (Oregon). Quite at ease.

Soon, I would bring three sons along and all by eight or nine years of age could fly fish on a lake or stream and catch their memories of Trout, Steelhead or Salmon. Today, I notice my son’s lives are busy, complex and denying them much time on the water. I hope that changes for them beyond the once a year camping trip to wet a line. They need their time on the water, in the water, staring at the water to distract and renew.

I do know my teaching, encouraging, mentoring those I care about in the sport has been most rewarding in a self serving way. I was going to say non-selfish, but truth be told, I  taught my loved ones so I would have company while fishing. It is limiting to be fishing knowing others are waiting back at camp or the rig for your return. The clock ticks. The clock doesn’t exist if they are twenty yards down river or across the lake solving their puzzle.

I do wish my memory was better. It is not an indication of caring or worthiness. Things are just fuzzier. Memories stored, and no one to prompt the retrieval or reminder via “do you remember that time when……..” I have kept journals and have taken many photo’s. Those are excellent tools to recall the memory. So, I need to keep creating the memories on the front end…so do you!

Tomorrow’s Every Day in May Challenge Topic: Shoreline

Outdoor Life Magazine (June 1948)

Today, I had the good fortune to meet with an old acquaintance I hadn’t seen in years. We were talking about life and all the passages that sometimes leave us sitting, in our 60′s, wondering what next. This nice man, knowing I fly fish, was most generous in bringing me an old magazine, an Outdoor Life from June 1948.

It was a thoughtful gesture, one of respect and a reflection of what a gracious man he is. Such touches, out of no where, remind me of a gentler, kinder way that I am sometimes woefully inept at.

The Old Rig is Sold: The Original Fly Fishing + Camping Rig

The last several years have evolved through those life challenges and events that most of us eventually face: the deaths of our parents. There have been many associated challenges, which I won’t get into here. This morning marked a nostalgic event…the sale of my Dad’s car. He has been gone 18 years so I guess it was about time. While my mom was alive it seemed unthinkable to sell the car. It sat unused in the garage for all those years, surrounded by the intake of a hoarder and cocooned beneath the stuff.

The car eventually had to be either retained by family (and by someone with the wherewithal to fix it up) or sold. This morning it was loaded up on a trailer and taken away by a very happy man into vehicle restorations.

The Camping~Fishing Rig

Originally, my dad drove a 1949 Buick Roadmaster. I learned to drive in that Buick Roadmaster. But, at some point my dad must have mentioned something about a new car. In discussing this with a neighbor boy, he dropped by our house with an article about Chevrolet releasing a new engine, a 396 cu. in/325 hp engine. I am pretty sure that meant nothing much to my dad, and certainly nothing to me, but the neighbor friend kept bringing up the engine. Next thing I new the family and neighbor boy were all in the Roadmaster and headed to Lyman Slack Chevrolet. And, suddenly my dad was buying a 1965 Chevrolet Impala Station Wagon with the 396 cu. in. Thus was acquired the camping rig.

The seeming prestigious flags and that engine. Over the years, my dad had those in the know offer to buy the car for the engine alone.

As if a plan had been formulated, the Henning’s Fishing Guide was produced along with a map. Suddenly, Lenny and I were suggesting fishing destinations. Remember, Lenny was my source of flies, well one fly, the Tied Down Caddis, which he tied for a local department store. So, we wanted to go to places the Henning’s Fishing Guide said were fishable. Thus began the earnest exploration of the outdoors and fly fishing. I was maybe 17 and this car was a joy to drive. My dad loaded up this rig with heavy tarps, rope, canvas tents, cast iron utensils and enough canned goods to feed Dufur, Oregon. The car was good looking and comfortable. It was well taken care of for quite a few years, but then once I was gone and my dad retired, he took on a new job of building maintenance. Suddenly, paint cans, ladders, tools and wiring filled the car and this resulted in damage over time. 

None the less, as the car was loaded up today, I was very nostalgic. Another passage in life. Thank you Dad for going along with our plans. And, thank you mom for camping when I am sure you would have run into less bats, snakes and mosquitos in a motel.

Trailer Art by Paige Bridges

A while back, I posted re my Aunt and Uncle (both departed) camping in a little home made trailer and fly fishing along the way. This morning, I came upon some work by Paige Bridges she calls ‘trailer art‘. Whether you grew up tent camping (that’s how I camped as a kid) or were around trailers or campers, these paintings of by gone times will resonate of long ago observations…check them out.

Sugar Shack by Paige Bridges

My Aunt in their version of the Sugar Shack...I'm sure. This home made trailer was a bright spot in my uncle and aunt's life as they camped and fly fished.

Photography: Random Stuff in Passing Down the Road

Photography, for me, is sometimes random snaps. Impulse driven, I see something and take a photograph. Sometimes it is a shape, a color, a pleasing line, a jagged edge. Maybe it includes a person, but usually doesn’t. So, like that point in a move when only a little this and that is left on the floor and you throw it all into box and load it up….here are a few shots for no coordinated reason:

A lightning strike? It may have been. The charred bush seemed to be the epicenter. But, then I walked up and saw thicker limbs off of near by trees, the sawed ends giving away their origin. A fire to stay warm that got out of control? Too bad given the fire pits in camps nearby. The fire could have been worse. Excuse the bold lettering.

My dependable Ross Reel (the old Cimarron). There are many dependable reels available world wide. I have had great luck with the Ross Reels. I have stayed mid-range in pricing for most, but have purchased starter reels for others at a reasonable, inexpensive price.

An empty canal extending out of Haystack Reservoir in Central Oregon. It is part of a greater irrigation canal system that originates from larger lakes off the Hwy. 97 corridor. I liked the stark contrast of an empty canal just beside a large dam holding back lots of water.

A Lake Box. Not 'The" Lake Box. There are too many fly boxes loaded into the boat's pouches for there to be but one. This box makes a pretense of orderliness, but it doesn't last. This particular box does not hold Mayfly, Caddis, Streamers or Scud patterns. Those, of course, are nearby in other boxes.

The Man standing on my rig's canopy. A silly little toy I found at my Aunt's hoarding home (see Hoarding Woes & You if you want to know why I have not been getting to fish much the last three years). I pose this little guy in various shots as a good luck charm. I also figure I can use his pose to highlight how big the one that got away was....someday.

The simple beauty of a rock with some green grass. In this instance, the rock was next to others put there by man, imposing 'natural' barriers to off road travel down to the lake. Partly this is great to avoid erosion and destruction. But, it keeps RV like rigs and vehicles in the full high desert sun. I don't have AC in my ancient tent trailer, so as much as I would like to camp near such a spot, the thought of hours spent waiting for the trailer to cool off, even with windows open and winds blowing, is off putting. And, I'm not going back to tent camping....thank you very much! So, the rocks win. That's ok.

I said they were random. Oddball impulses. I drove by others that I wish I would have stopped for: an old barn…a stockyard in Madras full of cattle…an abandoned restaurant sign for Charlie’s Chinese…Pizza and Mexican food or some such combo…a farm yard surrounding an old home, single wide trailer and a dozen broken down trucks, goats and some washers and dryers (not sure why, just such a cluster f#%k of crap)…roadside crosses for the violently departed via MVA’s (there were some touching ones). Ok, that’s enough for now.

Fly Fishing Memories…Old Pictures of Togetherness

Today, while pouring through box after box at my dear, departed Aunt’s hoarding home, I came across a photo album. These are golden in my estimation and upon opening it, the album did not disappoint.

A week ago or so, I was mentioning the miniscule objects that gave any indication my long departed Uncle fly fished beyond my recollection. Well. the album provided a wonderful affirmation of his and my aunt’s outdoor ventures.

Here is a picture of their camp spot in the early 1940's. My Uncle had observed an early prototype of a short camper made from sheet metal. He drew a diagram and took some measurements and then constructed the virtually same trailer. More importantly, notice the two fly rods leaning against the car!

And, to provide even more affirmation of his love of fly fishing, here was my Uncle wetting a line!!

Here you get an idea of the scale of the little trailer and of course the perfect place for that camping nap.

And it appears, my Aunt wet a line too.

The photo album was full of my Uncle and Aunt camping near rivers. There were no notes on the back of the pictures re where, but I do know they camped a lot in the 1930′s and there after. So these pictures, for me, are more important than most things I could have found in the hoarding garage, shop or home.  

Camping & Memories

The kids camping and traveling in Oregon, British Columbia and Alaska

Camping and all it entails brings back memories that, for me, are almost sacred. A family bonding that makes one yearn for those days of young children and the camp routine. I recall sitting out early, before the others have awakened. The camps around are quiet but for the other early risers. I would find the first glimmer of sunshine rising over a crest and sit in it for warmth, color and smoke my briar, Emma my Lab at my side. Soon the French Toast & Bacon would be consumed and the day would be filled with the sounds of families, dogs barking, fishing and family time. 

Recently, my kids were squabbling more than the usual brother-sister banter. I sent them each these old, faded pics to remind them of the good times and told them to behave (they are in their 20′s). Perhaps these times will be had again, but in a different way. New family members, grand children. I have visited my oldest boy’s family, camping near a lake and enjoyed their camp site. I am hopeful, almost certain, that the traditions will be carried forward in the years to come. Early Summer mornings, birds chirping, blue skies and big billowy clouds and tall trees. Fish rising and beckoning.

Beginning Fly Fisher’s: Keep Your Eyes On…….

Beginning Fly Tying Courses at Fly Shops and Community Colleges

If no shops are nearby then find those Podcasts & other on line resources

Find Hatch Charts for Your Local Streams or Planned For Destinations

River Levels & Gage Station Reports for Your Area or Destinations

Reporting Stations for Mountain Passes

Hire a Guide Someday…Save Your Dinero

Identify a FF Club in Your Area and Attend a Meeting to see if it fits 

Check Fly Shops and News Papers for Fly Tying Expositions & Attend 

All these are practical planning ideas to spend the Winter months planning for open waters or Spring  openers. Tying, Watching others tie, safe road trips, planning for a trip, anticipating ice-off, hiring a guide and watching the river levels are all part of the planning process. Find the resources and keep your eyes on the charts, gages and levels. Part of the fun! Did I mention ‘planning’?

Longing for……………

A warm Fall day. The crowds gone. Rustling reeds, a brush of warm breeze across the face. Anticipation for the take. No one around. Like your own private lake with a cabin on the hill in the distance amongst the Ponderosa. Bliss!

Wilderness Communications Devices

 “If there’s no risk, there’s no adventure.” Those who are drawn to wilderness medicine—and to the places and circumstances where it is practiced—are, by definition, drawn to adventure and its accompanying risks. Whether it is a backpacking trip, an international mountaineering expedition, or a disaster response, risk cannot be avoided (nor would we wish it to be). What needs to be done in these circumstances is to understand, accept, and manage the risks involved. The tools available for managing risk include thorough pre-departure planning, critically evaluating the situation when problems arise, making sound decisions, and having a plan in place for communicating with sources of outside aid, should their assistance be required.”   

 ”A belief that one can readily call for help and be rescued should not lead to taking imprudent risks that would be considered unacceptable if the ability to call for help were not present. Anything that is dependent on technology or batteries can fail. Terrain, weather conditions, and distance can all delay or prevent rescuers from reaching an individual or party in distress. When traveling to the wilderness or to other remote locations, each individual must accept responsibility for themselves and for all the possible outcomes of their adventures.”    Wilderness Communications