Echo

 

 

 

 

Echo/Lost

 

The best way I can think of ending a school year, is to spend it on the river. A small but deadly group of us to made plans to converge at Lost Creek for a little time getting our feet wet. I am feeling pretty happy sporting my new “River Tales” tee shirts made by Silk Screen Master Sham, as young stud “X” Matheson and I pile the gear into the truck. We will meet his father “The Oracle” up there as well as Colby Wilson and his family. He’s bring his son Ruby and his parents. I’m most excited to meet his dad—Ralph. He was in Viet Nam, and he lost one of his legs and an arm from a land mind exploding. I have heard many tales about this “true grit” guy. Colby hooked him up with a Tankara rod, so it will be cool to see that in action as well. For those not familiar Tankara is a Japanese style of fishing with a long rod and no reel. So naturally it should work pretty for a guy with only one arm.

 

As we are almost to the fork in the freeway where I-80 and I-84 split off, and we decide to go the I-80 direction so we can spend a few hours on Echo Creek before we get lost on the Lost. What a cute little river Echo is, small with nice little holes and frisky cuts. We are not breaking any records, but we’re doing just fine. However, we both know that we could so easily just fish the entire day away on Echo. It’s the “time inside of time” issue I have talked about so many times. I think it’s what draws men to fishing, the opportunity to forget everything in life and just get lost in playing. When you fish, time, obligation, worries, projects--whatever melt away. I always say it makes me feel 8-years-old again. That was my golden age, a time of play; and does any real man ever grow up?

 

It’s back to the truck for us, to meet up with the others for a little bite to eat at the Polar King—I love their Jalapeño burger. We are having a hard time getting across the fence; the barb-wire is doing its job, making it hard to decide to push it down, or pull it up or hell, just find a better spot. We walk on; tall grass loving life--all is good. X lets out a yell, you know the sound, not like he got hurt, but the danger sound. “What is it?” I ask. “Oh my God, you almost stepped on that snake,” he yells. No one likes a snake in the grass; that’s where the saying came from—right! But when you fish rivers you are used to running into water snakes all the time, no biggie; but this thing is in a pile like a cow pie, and it has a diamond head—and I’m not sure but I think I see a rattle. The thing is big, Diamond Head, multi- colored, and brown, tan and yellow, but no movement what so ever. Okay, now I can say I am afraid. I am thinking of the Oracle’s text before we left, “take care of my boy,” and he has only one child, it won’t be good if I bring him back with a rattle snake bite.

 

We are both a little freaked out; I think we both have a just dodged a bullet feeling. We meet his dad at lunch and tell the tale. Then off to Lost Creek, hopefully Colby will be there. When we pull up to the area we park, some idiot with Oregon plates is parked right in our spot. What are the odds that some out of state Yahoo is parked here, and they’re obviously here to fish? I can see a lady in the passenger’s seat, so I send X to ask her just what the hell she’s doing here. She said her husband and her son are fishing. Here’s the part where I feel really stupid—Colby told me he’s bringing his parents and kids, and oh that’s right his parents are from Oregon. What can I say “Stupid is as stupid does…”

 

Hearing stories about his one arm, one leg father is one thing, but to see this guy working down a steep hill to get to the river—wow impressive. I guess when you’re in his situation you have only two doors: get help from others, or be fiercely independent. It’s easy to see which door Ralph picked. No wonder Colby’s such a bad ass.

 

Remainder of the night The Oracle and I keep tying on flies while X lures in some big cuts. Its great watching him cast and set. At one point this big boy rises up and sniffs his size 22 Griffith’s gnat, follows it, circles around, goes down river from it a few feet, then slowly slurps it in. As The Oracle would say, “it doesn’t get any better than this.” It sounds cheese-ball, but to see deer all over the place, hawks and herons fly over-head, the sun setting bouncing off their wings…who really cares about fishing? Does it really even matter what your after when your go fishing? Do you even need to think about it, or try to understand it, or even better, do you ever need to try to explain to anyone why you find it almost essential to your existence, and that they too should revel in it?