A Legacy

Donn J. Faulkner (1933-1992)

"While lightning struck near Donn's Crick,

And Sandhill Cranes flew overhead,

He tramped along the grassy banks,

In hopes his lure would do the trick.

He cast to pools where big ones hid,

And played a hunch near a rocky ledge,

'Twas all in vain this cloudy day,

Ol' fighter eluded his every bid."

(M.S. 1971)

My Dad was not a perfect father. But to me, he was a great one. And I never doubted his love for me, and for our family. 

And it is only now, as I reflect on my own many failings at being a dad and a husband, that I can begin to understand my father's strengths, failings, and weaknesses, in the midst of the many trials and tribulations we all face in this difficult world.

As a young husband, trying to make his start as a talented, budding architect in southern California, my Dad helped raise five rambunctious kids, in the crazy and uncertain era of the early 1960's. He saw early on, what was happening in Orange County, and what the future held, and, fortunately for all of us kids, he got us the hell out of there.

We moved north to Redding, California, which at the time, had a population of around 30,000 people. Dad dove right in to exploring the rivers, lakes and back roads of our new surroundings. And it was here, that he introduced the family to tent camping. 

I can recall spending entire weekends in soggy tents, as the rain poured unceasingly, and unmercifully. Funny, how it always seemed to have a way of letting up right before it was time to go home.

Armed with our little Zebco push-button rod-n-reel outfits, us kids went through record numbers of Pautzke's Green Label Salmon Eggs, in search of elusive nine inch hatchery planter rainbow trout. Dad always seemed to find campgrounds suitable for a family of seven, and with a small, trout-stocked creek nearby. I learned to love falling asleep to the sounds of a rushing creek at a very young age. 

Redding was growing way too fast for Dad, and even though it was a far cry from the craziness of Orange County, Dad's heart-strings were being pulled as a wilderness wanderer. And for him, it simply was not happening in California. 

His internal compass was always set on north.

So, in 1971, he and mom pulled up stakes, loaded five snot-nosed kids, our dog Sam, and "Kitty" into our old Volkswagon double-cab pickup, and moved us to Klamath Falls, Oregon.

Dad had plenty of room to roam in the mountains and desert areas of southern Oregon. It was here that I first recall falling in love with the smell of Sage Brush and Juniper trees. And there were plenty of those in southern Oregon. I first learned to shoot a shotgun, hunt ducks, drive a car, tie flies and fly fish in Oregon. And there were no shortages of beautiful places to hunt and fish here. 

As a kid who loved hunting and fishing and the outdoors, for me it was heaven.

My Dad was amazingly meticulous and organized. He always made check lists before a camping or hunting trip. I don't ever recall anything being left at home, since his check lists kept us well prepared. Dad also made the best camps I have ever seen. He built some folding camp tables that fit perfectly in the back of our VW truck. He knew how to build the best campfires, and always brought along his old 12' x 15' canvas tarp, so that when it rained, the cooking area stayed warm and dry. 

Dad taught us to drive, in the old VW pickup. He took us out on the 'safe' back roads of the Oregon high desert. and between moments of road hunting, he would let us take turns learning how to drive a standard transmission. I found it relatively easy to drive a stick. What was not so easy, was being under the tutelage of a stern task master. My Dad was tough. If you messed up, he let you know it.

I remember one incident when I came to a four-way intersection on some back road in the middle of nowhere. There may have been a stop sign. But there were no cars within a hundred miles of us. I asked Dad, "Is it clear?" He said, "clear." I got half-way into the intersection, and, as loud as he could, he yelled, "STOP!" I practically pissed my pants. Dad barked at me, "You NEVER ask someone if it's clear! You ALWAYS look both ways, and make sure it is clear for YOURSELF!" 

This was just one of many training sessions with my Dad. He was very strict, but he instilled good values into me that remain to this day. One of his most memorable statements while teaching me to drive was: "Son, you gotta drive like every other driver on the road is a damn, crazy idiot!" That advice has saved my life more than a few times.

Dad soon opened his own architectural office in Klamath Falls. He eventually hired one young draftsman when business picked up. I think the guy's name was "Gary?" All I remember about Gary was that he loved the band, "Steppenwolf."  He used to sing along to the song "The Pusher" like a crazy man, when my Dad stepped out to meet with a client. I don't know whatever happened to that guy. He wasn't the best influence on us kids.

Eventually, the economy of the early 70's took a nose-dive, and Klamath Falls stopped growing. No one was building new buildings. So, once again, Dad moved us north. After a long exploration of looking for the best place to find a good job opportunity, Dad decided on Boise, Idaho in 1974. 

Dad had built up a pretty good outdoor book collection by the time we settled into life in Boise. But the one book that stands out to me is, "Trails of a Wilderness Wanderer" by Andy Russell. I remember this book being on dad's table more than any other. And this was who my father really was at heart. 

In many ways, I think Dad was born 100 years too late. 

Dad had a Jeep Wagoneer. But that vehicle also went away, and a sturdy, Dodge Power Wagon 4x4 truck was purchased. Dad soon put a camper on the old Dodge, and thus began the many years and miles of exploration of southern and central Idaho. I don't remember how many hundred thousand miles that old truck logged in before Dad's passing, but it was a lot. 

The last piece of exploratory equipment Dad bought was a pair of Honda 90 trail bikes. These were somewhat for exploring. But the primary use Dad had in mind, was for hunting. Specifically, to haul out front and hind elk quarters, which were just too heavy for Dad as he aged and his health began to decline. I think my Dad had more fun on these bikes than anything else I can recall. The trail bikes accompanied him on most of his outings in the mountains of Idaho and Montana.

But what most shaped me as a young man, was witnessing the love my Dad had for my Mom.

(Mom at "Notellum Lake" - Idaho, 1980's)

And even though there were brief moments when Mom was upset that Dad spent more time in the mountains than he did with her, their marriage was solid, and was an inspiration to me. I once asked Mom, "What is the secret to your marriage?" She said, "We are both willing to give more to the the other, than we're willing to get." She said each of them were committed to giving 110% to each other. I told her that someday I wanted to have the kind of marriage that she and Dad had. 

And I eventually did find the wonderful wife I had always longed for. 

My Dad left an amazing legacy—of a man who, imperfect as he was, loved his wife and children with all of his heart. He had a dedicated work ethic. Work hard, study hard, do your best. And he had an incredible respect for nature, for mountains, rivers, and meadows, and for the wildlife that lived there.

And, in spirit and heart, Dad truly was a wilderness wanderer. 

He wanted to be free from the B.S. of politics, overcrowding, and inconsiderate jerks who did not love and respect the mountains and wildlife the way that he did. He did not want to be fenced in, in any way. It was not acceptable to him to be packed in to a pay-per night campground with hordes of other people. 

High on a mountain, where crystal clear streams flow freely, and the deer and elk roam in abundance, is where Dad most felt at home.

(Father's Day, 1972)

My Dad loved me. And he loved our entire family. 

With all of his imperfections, and his shortcomings and mistakes, he loved us. He did the best he could. I know he had some regrets. But so do we all. 

I am extremely thankful for the life I had with my Dad. He taught me well. And even though at the time I was not very happy with how strict he was with me, in retrospect, it probably kept me out of prison, or worse. 

It's been over eleven years since Dad's passing. I still miss him and think of him often. I could always go to him with a problem. He was always willing to be a patient, listening ear and offer a father's wisdom where appropriate. And whether it was sitting around a campfire, or just driving in the truck, I really enjoyed spending time with him. 

So Dad, I thank you, for loving me, and for giving of yourself. You always had my love and respect, even though I did not show it throughout my rebellious years.

Looking forward to the day that I will see you again...

—At The End of My Line.