THINKING BACK
Strange! I don’t feel that old. Since my body can’t cash the checks that my mind writes, I must admit to myself that it’s true. I’m no youngster anymore. Many things that were enjoyable in my life are now unreachable. These are things I call ‘Used ta’s’. Rather than a prolonged case of Shack Nasties in the winter, there ‘used ta’ be snowmobiling, skiing, goose and duck hunting, deer and elk hunting, winter camping, and.fishing! Not ‘dropping a tiny jig through a small hole in the ice deck’ fishing, but ‘floundering through the deep snow to the open water’ fishing. Alas, I fear that’s become one of the “used ta’s.
Winter activities now mainly consist of reading, (a lot), going to the post office, grocery shopping, watching TV, going to church, shoveling snow, (slowly) fooling around on the computer, dabbling with the Dremel, and tying flies. And if everything comes together just right, there’s still - fishing!
With not enough to do, there’s plenty of time to reminisce and remember.
Memories can be pleasurable or painful, and sometimes both together. I think back to hunting and fishing buddies who have passed away; Most of them didn’t live long enough to retire. Dean, Max, Ken, Dick, and Don; all of them taken too soon, mostly from heart attacks. Books could be filled with the memories of our fishing and hunting exploits together. Most were pleasurable. A few were painful. Think embedded fish hooks.
There was the time when traveling to hunt sage grouse, that Ken’s dog got carsick and upchucked into Dick’s outstretched hands. Memorable. Or the day that we three set out before dawn to go deer hunting, and finding the two track road to the area blocked by an amorous couple that thought they were far enough out in the boonies. I lost the Rock-Paper-Scissors decider, and had to go ask them to move. Embarrassment in the dark at 5:00 A.M.
And then there was Wallace. (Wally’s, also deceased) His aptitude for getting us in trouble while trying to get to places that nobody else fishes was legendary. Driving down a switchback jeep road into the Teton River Gorge necessitated driving partway around the switchback, hanging the front bumper over the precipice, backing up and then going forward to complete the turn. His new pick-up was longer and lighter than his previous vehicle, and after hanging the bumper over the edge, and starting to back up, the rear wheels started to spin and bounce. He almost jumped out of the truck because he thought it was going to go over. We made it to the bottom where we geared up. Next, I followed him into the waist-deep water, where we had to wade upstream for a quarter of a mile, beneath the cliff that the truck almost went over, to a large log that lay across the raging torrent. Of course, the log was wet and slippery, but we were young, and relatively fearless. Upstream on the other side, was a beautiful hole below a rapid that was full of rainbows nearly 12 inches long. What will you do for a 12 inch rainbow?
How about the time he took my son and me on an excursion into Canada to find a lake that was supposed to be filled with trout? After driving for several hundred miles, we drove another 50 miles on a two-track road. Upon reaching the ridge overlooking the lake, we encountered a couple of guys in a 4-wheel drive who had spent three days digging their way out of the mosquito infested boggy mess, to reach the two rut road. If we had been a few minutes later, we would have been in it. I was lucky to survive Wally.
The common denominator I’m edging toward is that all of these men are gone, and along with them their shared memories of times we had together. Most were not spectacular. Most were at least memorable. We learned a lot from each other, and reveled in shared experiences that were the things we most enjoyed. Now they are gone. I still have three long-time friends that I get together with occasionally. One I consider my best friend. He has been for more than 40 years. We still have memories to make.
I’ve finally come to the point to which you all knew I was coming. None of us know how much time is allotted to us. We never know when those we love and care for won’t be there any more. To young and old who have plodded through this epistle, I encourage you to do your best to make and keep good friends, and to enjoy every opportunity you can with them and your family. Don’t forget your family. The older you get, the harder it is to find good fishing buddies. Memories dim as you get older, and if you’ll take the time to write your experiences down, these memories will be brought back fresh. One thing common to all of us old fogies, is the yearning to experience things we ‘used ta’. There can never be enough.