As we drove through the night to get out of the city, I lay in the back of the station wagon, looking upward, watching every street light as we passed underneath. Eventually the lights were fewer and far between, until they were gone, and we were alone in the desert with only the stars to keep us company.
The "high sierras" were what our family affectionately called the eastern high desert valley which includes Bishop California, and from there, our ultimate destination; the Arcularius Ranch, where our prized river awaited us, complete with lunker brown trout and a welcoming guest cabin.
I'll never forget the old guest cabin on the ranch. It was pretty rustic, but comfortable.
I can still remember the smell of the gas stove when my dad lit it every morning. When I finally could drag myself out of bed, and pull on my blue jeans and wrinkled, dark blue madras shirt, I made my way to the kitchen, which was lined with a warm, seasoned knotty pine.
Arcularius Ranch Guest Cabin
The Kitchen in the Guest Cabin
The first time I had ever tried Carnation Instant Breakfast was on our trip to the ranch. To this day, it remains an integral part of my fond memories of fishing with my Dad.
On this particular trip to the ranch, my distinct memory is that my Dad, my Cousin David and me were present. My cousin David insists that my brother Jon was along, but I have absolutely no recollection of that.
The River is a crystal clear stream, which meanders through lush cow pastures, tall grass, and the occasional sage brush or willow. There are deep, dark undercut banks, where monster brown trout hide, waiting for an unsuspecting meal to swim into their lair. Brown trout of over ten pounds have been caught over the years here. Though, few of that size are ever tricked by fishermen.
They didn't get that big by being dumb trout.
I remember my Dad and Grand Dad catching some really big trout back in the mid-60's, though none that ever went ten pounds. My Grand Dad caught his share of trout on flies. But my Dad, David, and I used night crawlers. "Big trout want a big meal" as my Dad used to say.
My earliest memory of fishing was when I was three years old. Dad tied a long rope around his waist, through the belt loops on his Levis 501's. He tied the opposite end of the rope through the belt loops of my much smaller Levis 501's. Then he rigged up my Zebco kids push button rod and reel with a big night crawler, on a size 4 Eagle Claw bait hook. And he sat me on a rock in the middle of the stream.
My first fish was a feisty three pound brown trout. And I have been hooked ever since.
On this particular trip with Dad and cousin David, I was probably five or six. After our early morning meal of coffee and Carnation Instant Breakfast (I think I chose strawberry), we set out with our fishing rods rigged up and ready to go. Dad had his old army-green fishing vest on, net hooked to the back, and I carried the worms. And, probably because Dad asked him to, David did his best to keep an eye on me.
Now, if I accurately recall the events that follow, somewhere in our mid-day meandering through cow pastures, searching for prime undercut banks where the biggest browns were hiding, we came across a herd of about a dozen Hereford cows—being closely guarded by one particularly large, extremely aggressive Hereford bull.
I had been around cows a few times before. We'd run into them along the river. This was a cattle ranch after all. But this bull was no ordinary "cow." He had big, threatening horns that matched his attitude. He was pawing at the dirt and kicking up quite a bit of dust.
I could sense my Dad's alarm at the behavior of this bull. With a sense of urgency in his voice and demeanor, he whispered to David to take me and go back, and go around a stand of willows, and he was going to keep the attention of that bull, and draw it away from David and me, to keep us safe. I was scared to death. Really scared for us, but even more scared for my Dad. I couldn't stop bawling, and making a lot of noise.
We did as Dad said, and went around the willows, where Dad said he would meet up with us after he got rid of that bull. I kept bawling, "I want my dad!" Understandably, David was getting mad at me and kept telling me to "shut up."
After what seemed like a long time, to my relief, Dad finally showed up and met us on the other side. I don't recall seeing that bull again for the rest of the day. And that was just fine with me. That was probably the most scared I had ever been as a kid.
But even with that scary incident with the bull, this was one of my most memorable childhood experiences. I saw my Dad's true character in action. He risked his own neck to protect me and David. He was an honorable man and he led by example then, and throughout his life.
He was a hero in my book.
Silly things like remembering the fragrance of cow pies (and throwing them at my brothers) are etched into my past. The smell of dry fly spray, Ponderosa pine trees, Cutters insect repellent, and Dinty Moore Beef stew cooking on the old Coleman camp stove, are indelibly stamped into my consciousness.
I hear the fishing on the River is still pretty decent these days. And the old guest cabin still stands on the site of the original Arcularius Ranch, though it is under new ownership, and sadly, is not accessible anymore to most folks. So I'll probably never go back.
No. I know I'll never go back.
This life has taught me that people and places are only in your life for a season. Some of those seasons are long, and some, fairly short.
But you can never go back and re-create what you once had, back in a particular time, or place in the past.
So enjoy them for what they are—memories from another time and another place, which have helped shaped your life and character.
And I, too, will enjoy my memories from days gone by, of instant breakfast, fishing with Dad, evading an angry bull, and chasing elusive brown trout...
—At the End of My Line.
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