Oncorhynchus
Well-Known Member
- First Name
- Moishe
- Joined
- Aug 30, 2020
- Threads
- 49
- Messages
- 669
- Reaction score
- 875
- Location
- San Jose, CA
- Vehicle(s)
- 2018 JLU Sahara Sting Gray 3.6L
- Thread starter
- #1
Early part of summer break. The wife had loaded up the AWD Highlander with the kids and headed to her parents’ house for two weeks. Our family vacation was still another month away. Meanwhile I was going to be an office bound bachelor for a couple of weeks.
Friday came around and I decided to take an impromptu trip to the holy waters, the river from where, starting more than a century ago, the rainbow trout of California were first exported to Michigan, England, Argentina and New Zealand. I rushed to the local Enterpise for a last minute car rental and could not get a pickup truck. I was stuck with a Nissan Altima.
I’d been down the road to the McCloud River for many years in my old truck, the truck I sold when the kids got too big to fit in the back seat, the truck that was replaced by the Highlander. There were going to be some tricky spots on the road where I knew I would be dragging the undercarriage of that Altima but I figured I am halfway decent at picking a line and could make it all the way.
About an hour down the dirt road into the canyon a lady in an uphill bound Subaru Outback stopped and opened her driver side window. She said she had to turn around about a 100 yards downhill from the our current spot because of a deeply rutted section. I thanked her for the tip and kept on driving. By the time I got to the washout my foolish smugness vanished.
Damn! I drove back uphill for an hour and then got to another access road to the river. But there a pile of rocks was stacked up on the road and a sign indicated that the road was closed. I had to hike downhill another hour on the closed road to get to the river. By this time I had burned up three hours just trying to get my fishing line to make first contact with the water. I managed to fish for only a few hours before the sun disappeared and I had to hike back uphill.
But while I was down there on the stream, standing on a huge boulder, looking like Brad Pitt (actually those scenes in the movie were played by a body double named Jason Borger who is a fly fishing pro) I noticed a nymph on the banks. Not a nymph as in the larval stage of a mayfly but a nude young maiden who was bathing. Her dusty hiking clothes hanging from a tree branch. I could feel the coldness of the glacial waters rushing past my ankles even though they were covered in neoprene and Goretex. From a distance with my middle aged eyes, the effects of river’s icy caresses upon the young lady’s body were clearly visible. I turned around so that my back was facing her, hoping to afford her some modesty. In case she noticed me she would believe that maybe I had not seen her.
After working that spot on the river for a few minutes I decided enough time had passed that surely she must have dressed and continued on her way along the Pacific Coast Trail. I was wrong. She had finished bathing and was fully dressed but she had not moved on. She was still there though by this time her male backpacking companion had caught up to her and he was now bathing. Ne’er before had I ever witnessed so hirsute a form. The young man was a verifiable Sasquatch.
It was later in the afternoon and the dark shadow of the deep canyon walls meant that already the air temperature had dropped by 10 degrees even though sun was still far from official sunset. It was time to start fishing back upstream and walk the road back to the car. It was dark by the time I made it halfway up the road. I was breathing so heavily that I almost didn’t hear the rattlesnake in the brush as I walked past it.
As I packed up and hastily threw my gear in the trunk knowing that I had a long drive home, I imagined that the washed out road I had abandoned early in the day was only going to get worse in the years to come, as the pattern of federal spending on backcountry roads appeared to be headed in the downward direction. About five minutes after I started driving a bear ran across the road and I nearly totaled the rental car in an area without cell phone service. Phew. That was close.
Alone on a dark two lane road a man’s mind can wander into the realm of the philosophical. Or at least he believes that is the case when in reality it is merely a lazy stream of sub consciousness. Hmm .... 12 hours round trip driving on the pavement. 2 hours round trip driving down and back an impassable dirt road. 2 hours round trip of hiking to the stream. 4 hours of actual fishing. I must be crazy. If . only . that . road . had . been . passable . in . a . rented . Nissan . Altima. Aaargh!!!!
The hours of anticipation that had been building into crescendo right up til the moment that I passed the mom and kids in the Subaru. But no. It took another two hour slog after that moment before I made contact with water. But the hazy thoughts eventually took form culminating in epiphany. Dear God in Heaven, I knew exactly, a divine vision, a crystal clear picture of what is lacking in my life at that very moment ...
... a Wrangler.
Friday came around and I decided to take an impromptu trip to the holy waters, the river from where, starting more than a century ago, the rainbow trout of California were first exported to Michigan, England, Argentina and New Zealand. I rushed to the local Enterpise for a last minute car rental and could not get a pickup truck. I was stuck with a Nissan Altima.
I’d been down the road to the McCloud River for many years in my old truck, the truck I sold when the kids got too big to fit in the back seat, the truck that was replaced by the Highlander. There were going to be some tricky spots on the road where I knew I would be dragging the undercarriage of that Altima but I figured I am halfway decent at picking a line and could make it all the way.
About an hour down the dirt road into the canyon a lady in an uphill bound Subaru Outback stopped and opened her driver side window. She said she had to turn around about a 100 yards downhill from the our current spot because of a deeply rutted section. I thanked her for the tip and kept on driving. By the time I got to the washout my foolish smugness vanished.
Damn! I drove back uphill for an hour and then got to another access road to the river. But there a pile of rocks was stacked up on the road and a sign indicated that the road was closed. I had to hike downhill another hour on the closed road to get to the river. By this time I had burned up three hours just trying to get my fishing line to make first contact with the water. I managed to fish for only a few hours before the sun disappeared and I had to hike back uphill.
But while I was down there on the stream, standing on a huge boulder, looking like Brad Pitt (actually those scenes in the movie were played by a body double named Jason Borger who is a fly fishing pro) I noticed a nymph on the banks. Not a nymph as in the larval stage of a mayfly but a nude young maiden who was bathing. Her dusty hiking clothes hanging from a tree branch. I could feel the coldness of the glacial waters rushing past my ankles even though they were covered in neoprene and Goretex. From a distance with my middle aged eyes, the effects of river’s icy caresses upon the young lady’s body were clearly visible. I turned around so that my back was facing her, hoping to afford her some modesty. In case she noticed me she would believe that maybe I had not seen her.
After working that spot on the river for a few minutes I decided enough time had passed that surely she must have dressed and continued on her way along the Pacific Coast Trail. I was wrong. She had finished bathing and was fully dressed but she had not moved on. She was still there though by this time her male backpacking companion had caught up to her and he was now bathing. Ne’er before had I ever witnessed so hirsute a form. The young man was a verifiable Sasquatch.
It was later in the afternoon and the dark shadow of the deep canyon walls meant that already the air temperature had dropped by 10 degrees even though sun was still far from official sunset. It was time to start fishing back upstream and walk the road back to the car. It was dark by the time I made it halfway up the road. I was breathing so heavily that I almost didn’t hear the rattlesnake in the brush as I walked past it.
As I packed up and hastily threw my gear in the trunk knowing that I had a long drive home, I imagined that the washed out road I had abandoned early in the day was only going to get worse in the years to come, as the pattern of federal spending on backcountry roads appeared to be headed in the downward direction. About five minutes after I started driving a bear ran across the road and I nearly totaled the rental car in an area without cell phone service. Phew. That was close.
Alone on a dark two lane road a man’s mind can wander into the realm of the philosophical. Or at least he believes that is the case when in reality it is merely a lazy stream of sub consciousness. Hmm .... 12 hours round trip driving on the pavement. 2 hours round trip driving down and back an impassable dirt road. 2 hours round trip of hiking to the stream. 4 hours of actual fishing. I must be crazy. If . only . that . road . had . been . passable . in . a . rented . Nissan . Altima. Aaargh!!!!
The hours of anticipation that had been building into crescendo right up til the moment that I passed the mom and kids in the Subaru. But no. It took another two hour slog after that moment before I made contact with water. But the hazy thoughts eventually took form culminating in epiphany. Dear God in Heaven, I knew exactly, a divine vision, a crystal clear picture of what is lacking in my life at that very moment ...
... a Wrangler.
Sponsored
well written.
