After returning to Salmon, Randy and I took off for Rexburg traveling Hwys 28 and 33. Interesting terrain, very flat with lava fields etc. We passed the Idaho National Laboratory, a research facility with many secret projects through the years. Later, we would learn from a guest at the Flat Rock Club, whose father worked on several projects there, that, many years ago, there was even a prototype of an atomic plane. Makes you wonder what people were seeing as UFOs. Hmmm.... Toured the town of Rexburg and the newly built division of BYU. Quite impressive. One wonders what the increased demands for potable water due to these developments will do to the water supply in eastern Idaho. May have a big impact on future fishing.
August 23rd found us at "the Pond", a semi-secret spring fed area near the South Fork of the Henry's Fork. Fishing there, as always, was challenging, particularly because of the warm, clear weather and a huge bull moose who chose to eat in the middle of our best fishing spot. Did manage to hook and land a 22" brown on a yellow parachute (#14). Randy landed a large cutthroat. Otherwise we spent a few frustrating hours casting to spooky fish and dodging the moose.
On the way to the Flat Rock Club the 24th, we fished "The Ranch" section of the Henry's Fork. "Just for fun" we decided to use our Sage 00 rods to test the ranch rainbows and browns. The rods do cast a quiet line and allowed us to get a little closer to feeding fish. In the am I caught several of the 10-12 in rainbows and had a couple of larger fish blow up on a #16 yellow parachute. With the wind blowing a gale in the afternoon, the hopper bank proved the place to be. The 00 was a challenge to cast in these conditions with plenty of "wind" casts (flip the fly in the air and let the wind cast it). Several big fish were up to the fly and Randy actually "fought" one for about 5 seconds without breaking his 00. Arrived at the FRC in time for dinner and to meet the new management: John and Nina Harrington, and our new chef Roland. The club appears to be in excellent hands with excellent service and exceptional meals. Roland was previously the chef at the Henry's Fork Lodge, has prior experience at major restaurants and, because of some health problems, was looking for a position with a less demanding schedule. Seems to be a good fit. His steak Diane the first evening was honestly the best I have ever eaten.
The 25th found Randy and me at our "secret" spot on Hebgen Lake. The calibaetis hatch was a little late but robust once it got going. We had several large rainbows and browns up to green parachutes (#14-16) during the couple of hours of the hatch before the wind came up. We tried Hebgen again on the 26th but the weather was changing, the hatch was non-existent. I only had one hookup, Randy had several, some on ants and nymphs. As Randy had "given" me his URI, we rested in the pm in preparation for getting up at 2:30 am on the 27th.
Did I say 2:30am!? Yep, in order to get to Ashton and meet Tom Grimes for a float on the South Fork of the Henry's Fork. Good plan as we were on the water at 6:30am casting foamy things on the bank and pulling in large fish after large fish. Many cuts and browns and a few rainbows. The best fishing occurred before 11:30am when the winds started blasting upstream. Still caught several good fish in the pm, but nothing like the dawn experience. Tom said this was the first and only time he was going to get up that early this year - we felt privileged. As is our custom, Randy and I took Tom out for dinner at the Relay Station for our annual chicken fried steak, mashed potatoes and gravy (I only do this once a year, honest!). After dinner, in spite of getting up at 2:30am and fishing all day, we walked to the Ranch hopper bank in the pm. Unfortunately, it was just a 2mi hike as the fish had had their fill of hoppers and were not cooperative. Oh well...
Thursday Aug 28th was to be a day off, visiting with out friend Henry Kopfinger and driving to Dillon for the Patagonia sale. Had a great visit and drive, purchased a few things and, on the way back to Island Park, stopped at the Reynaud's Pass bridge where I caught a 22" brown from under the bank, just up from the bridge. Took a copper John dropped off of a stimulator - great fight.
The 29th should have been a day off. Weather change had the fish off and the hatches were nil. Went to Hebgen where I couldn't hook up (fish rising randomly) but Randy had a good day guessing where the fish would rise and caught a dozen or so. Later fished below 3$ bridge but only caught a couple of mid-sized browns.
Second float trip with Tom Grimes on the 30th. Fished Remington backwater. Excellent fishing with several large rainbow up to 22" and Randy caught at least 4 very large (up to 24") brown in the pm. Most on flashback beadhead droppers, some on stimi. Had Henry over for dinner at the FRC.
Spent the 31st with Steve Mate fishing the Lewis River and the Madison in the park. Windy, stormy day. Few small browns
Sept 1 - Cold, windy, fished Madison at entrance to Hebgen with Steve Mate. No fish up of any size. Two flood gates broken at Hebgen dam had lake dropping and fish off their feed.
Sept 2 - Visited Rose Kopfinger, then fished above Ashton reservoir. Randy and I caught several 10-12" rainbows and browns. Good seam at second pullout. Most caught on dropper - copper john.
Sept 3 - Left for Topeka but stopped at the Lewis River on way out. Almost didn't leave. Caught several browns and had one double hookup - large brown on stimi, 12" brown on dropper with large brown getting off when smaller brown changed directions. Landed small brown. Oh well... Drove to Laramie through the Tetons and Wind River valley - beautiful drive interrupted only by battery failure while waiting for construction (left lights on). Randy and I jumped the battery in less than 2 min and were on our way.
Sept 4 - Laramie to Topeka - no problems. Ate with Larry, Randy and Lisa.
Sept 5 - Drove to Winchester Ky (approx 10 hrs) - some rain, no problems
Sept 6 - Home via 19/23 - good road, little traffic - great to be home!
Sunday, September 14, 2008
Alan's and Randy's Most Excellent Adventure - August 2008
Wednesday, August 13, I embarked on what was to become one of the best fishing trips my friend Randy McAllister and I have ever had. We have been fishing together since the mid 80's and both of us own shares in the Flat Rock Club in Island Park Idaho. We usually go there for 2 wks each summer to fish lower Montana, Yellowstone Park and the Henry's Fork drainages in eastern Idaho. Last year, my first full year in retirement, I drove out from Asheville to pick up Randy in Topeka and we fished some of the rivers in Colorado (Frying pan; Colorado; etc) on our way to Idaho. The extra flexibility my MDX provided had us looking for other options on our trip this year. Randy read in the Angling Report that an outfitter (Dave Hettinger Outfitting) wanted to explore some new water in the Chamberlain Creek basin of the Frank Church Wilderness in central Idaho. This would entail driving to Salmon Idaho, flying to a remote landing strip in the wilderness, horse packing into a base camp, and three days of fishing Chamberlain Creek. This would be somewhat of a challenge for me as I last sat on a horse about 15 years ago, was now 67, had a gimpy left knee and very little sense. So, of course, I agreed to go.
I decided to take it easy driving to Topeka and left early on the 13th so that I could make sure I would arrive at Randy's on the 14th. I only drove 11 hours that day, stopping in O'Fallon, Mo. No problem though as I never felt tired. This allowed me to eat lunch with my brother in law, Larry, in Lawrence, arriving at Randy's mid afternoon on the 14th.
Sharing driving responsibilities, Randy and I drove to Rock Springs, Wy. the 15th where we were in relatively easy driving distance from Salmon. While driving through Kemmerer, Wy on the 16th, we noticed a sign for the Fossil Butte National Monument and, of course, because Randy had previously collected a fossil fish from the Ulrich Fossil Gallery there, we took a brief detour and visited the monument and the gallery. It was fascinating looking at the exhibits of fossils recovered from the site and touring the Ulrich gallery where we each purchased a slab from the quarry to tease out our own Diplomystus or Priscacara (common Eocene fish fossils). Would have had many good pictures of this visit except that my photo disk developed a "formatting error" and I lost a few pictures. By the way, should you want to see any pictures of this trip, go to www.flickr.com under my site at "golfshrink" and have a look.
We arrived in Salmon, Idaho on the 16th, in plenty of time to scope out the Salmon River in that area so we could fish it on the 17th. You will note there are few pictures of the Salmon as fishing was not that great. Supposedly, the river had been "blown out" earlier that week and fishing was poor at best. We both caught a few small steelhead smolts and an occasional rainbow. The weather was hot so we opted to end our fishing day early (actually quit before dark!) and turn in, eager to start our wilderness adventure on the 18th.
Dawn on the 18th found us at the Salmon Airport, loading our gear on the single engine planes that carried us to the Moose Creek Ranger Station landing strip. The flight was uneventful except for heavy smoke in the wilderness due to wildfires (none close to our destination). Our pilot skillfully avoided the mountainsides as he banked in for our landing on the grass strip. There we met our hosts for the next 5 days: Dave Hettinger (outfitter); Bob (wrangler and our guide) and Nick (wrangler and guide for the other two adventurers, Barry and his son, Ian from Big Sky). You may have noticed that it was the "Moose Creek" Ranger Station, not the Chamberlain Creek Ranger Station. Only after we landed did we learn that the trail to Chamberlain Creek had been permanently blocked by a landslide and a bounder "the size of a Volkswagon" and that we would be fishing Moose Creek in the Selway Bitterroot Wilderness instead. No less remote, but with a good hunter's base camp which included a cook's (Don) tent and stove; Cabela's two man tents; a portable cold shower; and a hole in the ground "outhouse tent"- pheew!!). Drinking water was supplied in large water bottles. Dave had indicated that we might want to bring in water filters or purifiers, which we did. However, we noticed that the crew drank straight from the small streams and that there were no filled water bottles packed in. Hmmmm... where do you suppose they got our drinking water - straight from the creek of course. We discovered this our second day and hadn't experienced 'Beaver Fever", so we didn't purify our water. The water was actually very clear and tasted great. Don, the cook, provided adequate camp food (chicken, beans, bacon, sausage and eggs, burnt biscuits, steak, canned corn and beans, pre-prepared pie, fruit cups, tapioca pudding cups, candy bars, cola drinks, beer, coffee which could be consumed with a fork (not actually that strong, but almost) and Tang, Tang, Tang, and did I mention Tang? We didn't lose weight or suffer any GI problems, so all was well on the nutrition front.
A 90 minute ride from the airstrip to the base camp confirmed that not only could I get on and off of a horse without a mounting block, but that my backside, surprisingly, conformed to the saddle and my horse's movements so that I was not even sore! After about 30 minutes into the ride, I asked the wrangler my horse's name - "Devil"... oh great! ... the least experienced rider on "Devil." Actually, he was a gentle riding horse with good response to rein commands and his name came from his tendency to snap at the person cinching him up. Fortunately, I did not have to saddle him. He also liked to eat, which we were told we should try to prevent while riding the trail. Horses are supposed to look at the trail, not lunch. We were often riding through virgin forest where the ferns were 3-4 feet high and it proved not possible to prevent Devil from snatching them. On one occasion, while I was letting him drink from a stream (we were supposed to allow them to drink) he subtly moved to a nice clear part of the stream to drink. Only too late, did I realize that there was also lush grass at the bank, which Devil quickly grabbed at the first opportunity. Oh well... I tried.
Once we had set up camp the morning of the 18th, we rode about an hour up the East Fork of Moose Creek where we caught many steelhead smolts and nice 12-14 in cutthroats on dries. We also caught 2-3 10-12 in rainbows, which, as we were to discover, were rare in this fishery.
After a good night's sleep, serenaded by the wolves, and a good breakfast, we rode a couple of hours up the North Fork of Moose Creek. Excellent water, several 12-15" cuts and many steelhead smolts, mostly on dries. Both Randy and I were having excellent fishing and we persuaded Bob, our guide, to join us in the catching. After wandering up the stream for a couple of miles, a stray thunderstorm, had us ducking for cover, after which we resumed our trek upstream for another half mile or so. Bob suggested, that in order to return to camp in time for dinner, we might want to climb through the brush up a 45 degree slope to the trail about 100 yards above us. Hmmm..... another one of those decisions that a 67 y/o gimp has to make in the wilderness. Of course I said, "No problem, let's go up". With Randy's pushing and my pulling up on vegetation, I actually made the ascent without too much difficulty. All this is to say that if you are not in good physical condition or have a cardiovascular or pulmonary problem, you have no business on this trip, a point which we clarified with Dave. I would recommend consulting a physician about taking such a trip and unless you could hike a moderate to strenuous mountain trail for 4 miles, you should stick to float trips. I am certainly glad I had been working out each morning for the past 16 months and walk and carry 18 holes of golf at least three times/wk.
The next morning (the 20th) while eating our sausage, eggs, biscuits and being fortified with coffee and Tang, Dave asked if anyone was up to a 3 hour horse ride on a fairly steep trail to fish a remote pool at Elbow Bend on the East Fork of Moose Creek. Randy and I quickly, without much thought, volunteered, "making our guide Bob's day". He had been hoping that someone would go on this ride as he had spotted several good pools which had largely been unfished. He stated that Randy and I would probably be only the second and third anglers to fish this pool ( he had evidently cast a few casts into them while transporting the horses and mules down the trail from the Selway River trail head). The previous two days were very hot (90's) and a front was coming through, triggering the thunderstorm on the 19th and resulting in intermittent rain on our 3hr ride through virgin forest. The forest was pristine with large pines, thick understory and with the exception of the occasional calls of birds, peaceful silence. Bob spotted a black bear moving away from our horses, but otherwise, there was little evidence of "quadrupeds" as Randy likes to call the larger wildlife. Bob had us lead our horses about a quarter mile during the middle of our ride to stretch our legs. This greatly alleviated the strain on the inner thighs, which was my only discomfort. There were several times when we traversed narrow stretches of trail with steep falloffs. Susan would not have liked this part of the trail ride. On one occasion, Randy's horse, Warren, balked and backed up quickly causing Randy to dismount to investigate the problem. The problem was a stick in the middle of the trail which closely resembled a snake. Randy was able to lead Warren close enough to the stick to remove it and continue. Otherwise Warren was heading back to camp. After about 3 hours we reached our destination, geared up and climbed down to one of the pools we were to fish. I was a little ahead of Randy, reaching the pool, and decided to give him first opportunity to fish the deepest stretches while I waded up to the riffle above the main pool. My first several casts with an Adam's parachute (#14) resulted in landing a few steelhead smolts and a nice 15", beautifully colored cutthroat. Randy had caught a few smolts and a steelhead from the main pool. I decided to fish deeper as the entry to the main pool dove around a deep corner along a rock wall. I asked Randy for one of his heavily weighted streamers and on the next 6 casts, caught and landed 5 steelhead over 15" with the largest around 22". Feeling "slightly" guilty at my good luck, I encouraged Randy to come to the head of the pool and fish with me. For some reason he had less luck than I and after he tried several casts with no luck, I resumed casting, figuring we might have fished out this part of the pool. Not only had we not fished out the pool but I kept landing fish after fish, all between 15 and 20" including one bull trout. Randy called my luck payback for a previous trip to the Lewis Channel in Yellowstone where he caught brown after brown while I, using the same flies in the same areas of the stream, caught only a rare brown. Fortunately, when Randy moved down to a pool below our "honey hole" he also landed about 20 cutthroats. Bob, our guide, also got into the action and we encouraged him to try a large mouse fly on the surface as I had hooked up and broken off a huge fish in the main pool. He landed a couple of the 20" cutthroats. We could probably have fished those two holes all day (as it was we fished them for 5 hours) and would have camped out if given the chance. However, we needed to head for camp as the weather was changing rapidly and we had a three hour ride back. This one day would have made the trip worthwhile and certainly made 6 hours on horseback more than tolerable. On our way out, the weather did break and we finished our ride into camp in a thunderstorm. A little nerve wracking as the storm broke as we were riding through some previously burned forest with plenty of "widow makers" ready to fall. We heard a few crash through the understory and past a few recent falls across the trail. All ended well with a warm meal and a dry tent.
That night I had the only mishap during the whole wilderness adventure. The previous two nights were hot and we slept on top of our sleeping bags. With the change in the weather, this night was considerably cooler. In the middle of the night, I decided to crawl into my sleeping bag, but the zipper stuck about 2 feet from the top. No problem... I would just inch up to the top of the bunk and slide in.... right?....wrong! The bunk attacked me!! Next thing I knew I was curled up between the head of my bunk and the tent side with my legs and the bottom of the bunk somewhere up above me in the dark. Randy, so rudely wakened, said he thought we were having an earthquake, but when he realized what was happening, he was so paralyzed with laughter he was no help! I was able to extricate myself with no injury except my pride and with a promise by Randy he "would tell no one" (a promise broken immediately at breakfast the next morning).
The 21st was a washout with steady rain the whole day. We finally ventured out about 3pm to fish Moose Creek near the camp. Caught a few steelhead smolts and a couple of 10-12" cutthroats and had a nice walk through the rain soaked forest. Our last night in camp, the sky partially cleared to reveal the crescent moon to which the wolves gave their respects.
On the 22nd we were greeted to cool, fresh air and clear skies for the 90 minute ride out of camp during which we saw some deer and a pileated woodpecker. I am constantly amazed at how lucky we are to have our creatures at home so unafraid of man that we see them often (sometimes too often when the bears raid the bird feeders) and how rarely the forest creatures expose themselves. I am certain they are there watching as I usually feel their presence but rarely see them.
Our flight back to Salmon flew over the Frank Church Wilderness we were originally scheduled to visit. We have no regrets, however, as our five days in the Selway Bitterrot Wilderness came to a close with excellent memories of a great fishing adventure few have a chance to experience in a lifetime.
I decided to take it easy driving to Topeka and left early on the 13th so that I could make sure I would arrive at Randy's on the 14th. I only drove 11 hours that day, stopping in O'Fallon, Mo. No problem though as I never felt tired. This allowed me to eat lunch with my brother in law, Larry, in Lawrence, arriving at Randy's mid afternoon on the 14th.
Sharing driving responsibilities, Randy and I drove to Rock Springs, Wy. the 15th where we were in relatively easy driving distance from Salmon. While driving through Kemmerer, Wy on the 16th, we noticed a sign for the Fossil Butte National Monument and, of course, because Randy had previously collected a fossil fish from the Ulrich Fossil Gallery there, we took a brief detour and visited the monument and the gallery. It was fascinating looking at the exhibits of fossils recovered from the site and touring the Ulrich gallery where we each purchased a slab from the quarry to tease out our own Diplomystus or Priscacara (common Eocene fish fossils). Would have had many good pictures of this visit except that my photo disk developed a "formatting error" and I lost a few pictures. By the way, should you want to see any pictures of this trip, go to www.flickr.com under my site at "golfshrink" and have a look.
We arrived in Salmon, Idaho on the 16th, in plenty of time to scope out the Salmon River in that area so we could fish it on the 17th. You will note there are few pictures of the Salmon as fishing was not that great. Supposedly, the river had been "blown out" earlier that week and fishing was poor at best. We both caught a few small steelhead smolts and an occasional rainbow. The weather was hot so we opted to end our fishing day early (actually quit before dark!) and turn in, eager to start our wilderness adventure on the 18th.
Dawn on the 18th found us at the Salmon Airport, loading our gear on the single engine planes that carried us to the Moose Creek Ranger Station landing strip. The flight was uneventful except for heavy smoke in the wilderness due to wildfires (none close to our destination). Our pilot skillfully avoided the mountainsides as he banked in for our landing on the grass strip. There we met our hosts for the next 5 days: Dave Hettinger (outfitter); Bob (wrangler and our guide) and Nick (wrangler and guide for the other two adventurers, Barry and his son, Ian from Big Sky). You may have noticed that it was the "Moose Creek" Ranger Station, not the Chamberlain Creek Ranger Station. Only after we landed did we learn that the trail to Chamberlain Creek had been permanently blocked by a landslide and a bounder "the size of a Volkswagon" and that we would be fishing Moose Creek in the Selway Bitterroot Wilderness instead. No less remote, but with a good hunter's base camp which included a cook's (Don) tent and stove; Cabela's two man tents; a portable cold shower; and a hole in the ground "outhouse tent"- pheew!!). Drinking water was supplied in large water bottles. Dave had indicated that we might want to bring in water filters or purifiers, which we did. However, we noticed that the crew drank straight from the small streams and that there were no filled water bottles packed in. Hmmmm... where do you suppose they got our drinking water - straight from the creek of course. We discovered this our second day and hadn't experienced 'Beaver Fever", so we didn't purify our water. The water was actually very clear and tasted great. Don, the cook, provided adequate camp food (chicken, beans, bacon, sausage and eggs, burnt biscuits, steak, canned corn and beans, pre-prepared pie, fruit cups, tapioca pudding cups, candy bars, cola drinks, beer, coffee which could be consumed with a fork (not actually that strong, but almost) and Tang, Tang, Tang, and did I mention Tang? We didn't lose weight or suffer any GI problems, so all was well on the nutrition front.
A 90 minute ride from the airstrip to the base camp confirmed that not only could I get on and off of a horse without a mounting block, but that my backside, surprisingly, conformed to the saddle and my horse's movements so that I was not even sore! After about 30 minutes into the ride, I asked the wrangler my horse's name - "Devil"... oh great! ... the least experienced rider on "Devil." Actually, he was a gentle riding horse with good response to rein commands and his name came from his tendency to snap at the person cinching him up. Fortunately, I did not have to saddle him. He also liked to eat, which we were told we should try to prevent while riding the trail. Horses are supposed to look at the trail, not lunch. We were often riding through virgin forest where the ferns were 3-4 feet high and it proved not possible to prevent Devil from snatching them. On one occasion, while I was letting him drink from a stream (we were supposed to allow them to drink) he subtly moved to a nice clear part of the stream to drink. Only too late, did I realize that there was also lush grass at the bank, which Devil quickly grabbed at the first opportunity. Oh well... I tried.
Once we had set up camp the morning of the 18th, we rode about an hour up the East Fork of Moose Creek where we caught many steelhead smolts and nice 12-14 in cutthroats on dries. We also caught 2-3 10-12 in rainbows, which, as we were to discover, were rare in this fishery.
After a good night's sleep, serenaded by the wolves, and a good breakfast, we rode a couple of hours up the North Fork of Moose Creek. Excellent water, several 12-15" cuts and many steelhead smolts, mostly on dries. Both Randy and I were having excellent fishing and we persuaded Bob, our guide, to join us in the catching. After wandering up the stream for a couple of miles, a stray thunderstorm, had us ducking for cover, after which we resumed our trek upstream for another half mile or so. Bob suggested, that in order to return to camp in time for dinner, we might want to climb through the brush up a 45 degree slope to the trail about 100 yards above us. Hmmm..... another one of those decisions that a 67 y/o gimp has to make in the wilderness. Of course I said, "No problem, let's go up". With Randy's pushing and my pulling up on vegetation, I actually made the ascent without too much difficulty. All this is to say that if you are not in good physical condition or have a cardiovascular or pulmonary problem, you have no business on this trip, a point which we clarified with Dave. I would recommend consulting a physician about taking such a trip and unless you could hike a moderate to strenuous mountain trail for 4 miles, you should stick to float trips. I am certainly glad I had been working out each morning for the past 16 months and walk and carry 18 holes of golf at least three times/wk.
The next morning (the 20th) while eating our sausage, eggs, biscuits and being fortified with coffee and Tang, Dave asked if anyone was up to a 3 hour horse ride on a fairly steep trail to fish a remote pool at Elbow Bend on the East Fork of Moose Creek. Randy and I quickly, without much thought, volunteered, "making our guide Bob's day". He had been hoping that someone would go on this ride as he had spotted several good pools which had largely been unfished. He stated that Randy and I would probably be only the second and third anglers to fish this pool ( he had evidently cast a few casts into them while transporting the horses and mules down the trail from the Selway River trail head). The previous two days were very hot (90's) and a front was coming through, triggering the thunderstorm on the 19th and resulting in intermittent rain on our 3hr ride through virgin forest. The forest was pristine with large pines, thick understory and with the exception of the occasional calls of birds, peaceful silence. Bob spotted a black bear moving away from our horses, but otherwise, there was little evidence of "quadrupeds" as Randy likes to call the larger wildlife. Bob had us lead our horses about a quarter mile during the middle of our ride to stretch our legs. This greatly alleviated the strain on the inner thighs, which was my only discomfort. There were several times when we traversed narrow stretches of trail with steep falloffs. Susan would not have liked this part of the trail ride. On one occasion, Randy's horse, Warren, balked and backed up quickly causing Randy to dismount to investigate the problem. The problem was a stick in the middle of the trail which closely resembled a snake. Randy was able to lead Warren close enough to the stick to remove it and continue. Otherwise Warren was heading back to camp. After about 3 hours we reached our destination, geared up and climbed down to one of the pools we were to fish. I was a little ahead of Randy, reaching the pool, and decided to give him first opportunity to fish the deepest stretches while I waded up to the riffle above the main pool. My first several casts with an Adam's parachute (#14) resulted in landing a few steelhead smolts and a nice 15", beautifully colored cutthroat. Randy had caught a few smolts and a steelhead from the main pool. I decided to fish deeper as the entry to the main pool dove around a deep corner along a rock wall. I asked Randy for one of his heavily weighted streamers and on the next 6 casts, caught and landed 5 steelhead over 15" with the largest around 22". Feeling "slightly" guilty at my good luck, I encouraged Randy to come to the head of the pool and fish with me. For some reason he had less luck than I and after he tried several casts with no luck, I resumed casting, figuring we might have fished out this part of the pool. Not only had we not fished out the pool but I kept landing fish after fish, all between 15 and 20" including one bull trout. Randy called my luck payback for a previous trip to the Lewis Channel in Yellowstone where he caught brown after brown while I, using the same flies in the same areas of the stream, caught only a rare brown. Fortunately, when Randy moved down to a pool below our "honey hole" he also landed about 20 cutthroats. Bob, our guide, also got into the action and we encouraged him to try a large mouse fly on the surface as I had hooked up and broken off a huge fish in the main pool. He landed a couple of the 20" cutthroats. We could probably have fished those two holes all day (as it was we fished them for 5 hours) and would have camped out if given the chance. However, we needed to head for camp as the weather was changing rapidly and we had a three hour ride back. This one day would have made the trip worthwhile and certainly made 6 hours on horseback more than tolerable. On our way out, the weather did break and we finished our ride into camp in a thunderstorm. A little nerve wracking as the storm broke as we were riding through some previously burned forest with plenty of "widow makers" ready to fall. We heard a few crash through the understory and past a few recent falls across the trail. All ended well with a warm meal and a dry tent.
That night I had the only mishap during the whole wilderness adventure. The previous two nights were hot and we slept on top of our sleeping bags. With the change in the weather, this night was considerably cooler. In the middle of the night, I decided to crawl into my sleeping bag, but the zipper stuck about 2 feet from the top. No problem... I would just inch up to the top of the bunk and slide in.... right?....wrong! The bunk attacked me!! Next thing I knew I was curled up between the head of my bunk and the tent side with my legs and the bottom of the bunk somewhere up above me in the dark. Randy, so rudely wakened, said he thought we were having an earthquake, but when he realized what was happening, he was so paralyzed with laughter he was no help! I was able to extricate myself with no injury except my pride and with a promise by Randy he "would tell no one" (a promise broken immediately at breakfast the next morning).
The 21st was a washout with steady rain the whole day. We finally ventured out about 3pm to fish Moose Creek near the camp. Caught a few steelhead smolts and a couple of 10-12" cutthroats and had a nice walk through the rain soaked forest. Our last night in camp, the sky partially cleared to reveal the crescent moon to which the wolves gave their respects.
On the 22nd we were greeted to cool, fresh air and clear skies for the 90 minute ride out of camp during which we saw some deer and a pileated woodpecker. I am constantly amazed at how lucky we are to have our creatures at home so unafraid of man that we see them often (sometimes too often when the bears raid the bird feeders) and how rarely the forest creatures expose themselves. I am certain they are there watching as I usually feel their presence but rarely see them.
Our flight back to Salmon flew over the Frank Church Wilderness we were originally scheduled to visit. We have no regrets, however, as our five days in the Selway Bitterrot Wilderness came to a close with excellent memories of a great fishing adventure few have a chance to experience in a lifetime.
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
Sports
To say that my life was influenced by my father would be putting it mildly. He was an ideal role model for finding balance in life and sports was an important part in his physical being as well as being an outlet for emotional energy. As a background, I should tell you about his activities, because they would help form my philosophy about the role of athletic activities in my life. Dad grew up in the depression and was one of four brothers. He was the second oldest, and because his father was ill from 1926 until his death in 1944, Dad and his older brother became the father surrogates and the bread winners for the family. They worked 2-3 jobs each during the depression years with Dad working for a bakery delivering bread at age 16 and then being empl0yed by an envelope company as a stock boy at age 18. Dad would tell me that in order to keep his job, he had to excel in various industrial sports leagues. Excel he did, playing guard on the company basketball team; pitcher on the hard pitch softball team; a member of the champion table tennis team; a member of the bowling team and actively worked out in the local athletic club. He never swam much, claiming he would just sink and didn't like to fish (not active enough). He would take up golf in his 30's, was self taught and shot in the 80's. Golf was the one sport that he and Mom played together. Never knew him to play tennis but he was an avid handball player. Dad's real ambition in life was to go to college and become a college level coach. He was never able to attend college as he had to work to support his younger brothers' education (both graduated college, one becoming a lawyer, the other a salesman for the envelope company for whom Dad worked). Dad would substitute for his lost dream of being a college coach by coaching me in various sports.
In the early years in Iowa, Dad introduced me to golf (age 4), baseball (catch in the backyard) and swimming. When we moved to Kansas, he enrolled us in the city's athletic club where I took courses in gymnastics (not my thing); boxing; general conditioning; basketball; handball and swimming. I became a member of the athletic club's swimming team, swimming in freestyle, breaststroke and backstroke events. I was better than average as a swimmer but always suffered from irritation of my allergies by the chlorine in the water. Never was accomplished as a diver as my sinuses couldn't take the pressure of submersion in more than ten feet of water and I didn't like doing flips off of the high board. Boxing was a good conditioning sport, but during one practice session, I knocked out my opponent even though he had a head guard on and I decided that I neither wanted to hurt anyone again or run the risk of my getting knocked out myself (this occurred at age 12). I remember many handball sessions with Dad and many basketball shoot arounds (think I actually beat him at HORSE 2-3 times out of the hundreds we played). He taught me to play table tennis and after four or five years of playing him, I finally almost won a game from him (think I scored 18 points). He had a serve that I was never able to read which he struck with a combined chop and forward movement of the paddle and which either bounced hard right or left when it hit the opponents side of the table. The problem was, unlike most chops, you couldn't read the spin and you were always just trying to block it back which usually resulted in a weak return and a subsequent hard slam from him. HE HEVER WOULD TEACH ME THIS SERVE!!! I have never figured it out. Dad became my golf coach and friendly opponent, my baseball coach and constant supporter of any athletic endeavor I attempted with the possible exception of fishing, in which he never had an interest. I felt no pressure to pursue sports as a profession but was encouraged to always do my best at anything I tried. I always put out my best effort not to disappoint him. As an indication of how important this was to me, one of my clearest memories was when I was trying to leg out a triple, I heard him yell, "Krueger, you are running too long in one spot." Never was very fast but that did hurt. Another baseball memory related to running occured during a practice session (Dad was coach) when Dad said, "You all are not hustling and are lazy, even a 38 y/o man like me could beat you around the track" (we were practicing near a high school track). "I am going to race all of you around the track and anyone who can't beat me will do two more laps". We all ran two extra laps. Very embarassing for a bunch of 14 and 15 y/o kids. To be continued later...
In the early years in Iowa, Dad introduced me to golf (age 4), baseball (catch in the backyard) and swimming. When we moved to Kansas, he enrolled us in the city's athletic club where I took courses in gymnastics (not my thing); boxing; general conditioning; basketball; handball and swimming. I became a member of the athletic club's swimming team, swimming in freestyle, breaststroke and backstroke events. I was better than average as a swimmer but always suffered from irritation of my allergies by the chlorine in the water. Never was accomplished as a diver as my sinuses couldn't take the pressure of submersion in more than ten feet of water and I didn't like doing flips off of the high board. Boxing was a good conditioning sport, but during one practice session, I knocked out my opponent even though he had a head guard on and I decided that I neither wanted to hurt anyone again or run the risk of my getting knocked out myself (this occurred at age 12). I remember many handball sessions with Dad and many basketball shoot arounds (think I actually beat him at HORSE 2-3 times out of the hundreds we played). He taught me to play table tennis and after four or five years of playing him, I finally almost won a game from him (think I scored 18 points). He had a serve that I was never able to read which he struck with a combined chop and forward movement of the paddle and which either bounced hard right or left when it hit the opponents side of the table. The problem was, unlike most chops, you couldn't read the spin and you were always just trying to block it back which usually resulted in a weak return and a subsequent hard slam from him. HE HEVER WOULD TEACH ME THIS SERVE!!! I have never figured it out. Dad became my golf coach and friendly opponent, my baseball coach and constant supporter of any athletic endeavor I attempted with the possible exception of fishing, in which he never had an interest. I felt no pressure to pursue sports as a profession but was encouraged to always do my best at anything I tried. I always put out my best effort not to disappoint him. As an indication of how important this was to me, one of my clearest memories was when I was trying to leg out a triple, I heard him yell, "Krueger, you are running too long in one spot." Never was very fast but that did hurt. Another baseball memory related to running occured during a practice session (Dad was coach) when Dad said, "You all are not hustling and are lazy, even a 38 y/o man like me could beat you around the track" (we were practicing near a high school track). "I am going to race all of you around the track and anyone who can't beat me will do two more laps". We all ran two extra laps. Very embarassing for a bunch of 14 and 15 y/o kids. To be continued later...
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
Religion
"Now I lay me down to sleep and pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take." This prayer is my first memory of religious practice and was prayed at my bedside every night until I was able to learn the Lord's Prayer, which then replaced it. My Christian orientation was promised by my parents at my infant baptism and, as far as I remember, it was a promise faithfully kept. Our family attended church regularly with Mom singing in choirs at various denominations (primarily Methodist, Presbyterian and Community Christian churches). I remember little of the first 9 years in Iowa except for Sunday School, which I attended during the main services. It was after the move to Kansas that I became active in the main service, singing in the children's and youth choirs, becoming an alter boy and flag bearer and eventually helping to collect offerings. My Sunday school teachers were fundamental in orientation and I learned that the teachings of the Bible were the literal words of God. My early understanding of God, therefore, was as a heavenly father, all-loving, all-knowing and willing to forgive the sins of man by sacrificing his only begotten son, Jesus Christ. At age 14, during the call at the end of a service, I felt the call to a personal commitment to Jesus Christ as my Lord and Savior and presented to the alter to witness. I was baptised soon thereafter in front of the congregation.
Throughout high school years I was active in Christian youth groups, the Boy Scouts, and was a fairly regular reader of the Bible. My parents worshipped largely through their participation in the music of the church and my father served on several church boards as a deacon. They were not evangelistic and religion was a private matter for each individual. I felt no pressure from them, rather appreciated their example of living their lives, guided by Christian teachings. I certainly observed the Ten Commandments at work in their relationships with me and those around them. Their agape love for each other and me and willing giving to those in need, were indeed, excellent examples of Christianity in action.
Being raised in a lower middle class, white, conservative community reinforced my rather narrow understanding of the world and I became rather altruistic. Then came college.
I entertained the notion of studying for the ministry for a while but was drawn to science and medicine as I progressed through my high school studies. Still somewhat ambivalent about career directions when choosing college, I talked to the faculty of my eventual medical school to determine whether pursuing a liberal arts education would prejudice against my entry . They heartily endorsed attending a small liberal arts college so that, should I choose medicine as a career, I would have the advantage of a well-rounded education. I therefore entered a small Methodist college in Kansas and began a long educational journey which has never ended.
Among the required courses in this college was The Life and Teachings of Jesus which studied man's understanding of Christ and His impact on history. Part of the course was the examination of the origin of the scriptures. We learned that many of the Dead Sea Scrolls which eventually made up the books of the Bible were rejected by the Christian scholars of the time because the writings did not exactly meet the standards of the than accepted Christian beliefs. For example, reincarnation as a Christian principle "lost out" by only 12 votes during the Nicene conference. Therefore any scrolls referring to reincarnation were excluded. Hmmmmm.... and I had believed that the books of the Bible were not chosen by man but written by man to express God's teachings. My later exposure to other religions and their beliefs raised many doubts about the exclusivity of Christians having the true word of God. I felt somewhat betrayed by my Sunday school teachers who did not present alternative religious thought so I might form my own understanding of my relationship to God. Thus began the agnostic streams of thought which continue to this day.
This ambivalence about my religious beliefs resulted in my decision not to pursue the ministry but to focus on medicine. My majors in college were in Psychology and Biology with enough hours in Sociology to also warrant a major. During my studies in these courses, my rudimentary understanding of the biopsychosocial aspects of life and behavior was begun. I began to understand man's need for an understanding of existence and religion's role in combination with the life sciences in answering the unanswerable questions. I discovered that some of the "blind faith" of religion could be made less "blind" by the studies of science. I saw no reason that both scientific and religious approaches to understanding could not complement each other and continue to believe so today.
My first wife, whom I met in high school, was also a product of fundamentalist Christian education and, in fact, several of her Sunday school teachers became parent surrogates with much more influence over her thinking than her parents. As we dated, I attended many meetings of her youth group which had a ritualistic, exclusive, club-like orientation. She was never to change or question her Christian orientation and I continued to support her need for close ties to her church during our marriage. We served as youth ministers and I became a teacher for adult studies and an active member of the church board. These activities occurred during my medical school years and for a few years thereafter. Unfortunately, the social church made more and more demands on my time and our church home went through a severe split in the congregation over many political issues. In addition, my wife became more attached to surrogates in the church family and our relationship suffered severely. Eventually, not willing to fight those battles while trying to become a physician, I left the organized church and eventually my first marriage. I will not comment more about the nature of the dissolution of my first marriage as the details are not appropriate for this medium.
It was not until I met my second wife that I truly understood the meaning of unconditional (agape) love. Even through the infatuation of our early relationship, the deeper love was obviously different from any I had ever experienced before, even the unconditional love given to me by my parents. It is just as strong today as it was 30 years ago and if a gift from God, is certainly representative of the Christian understanding of agape.
So where am I in my Christian beliefs? Less Christian than I was when I was 14, but certainly under the influence of my learned Christian values. God is now less a father figure than a force in all existence. I am not so presumptive as to think that there is life after death as we know it and am agnostic about what happens to my life force (soul?) when I cease to be in this existence. In the meantime, I will continue to respect and support any belief system that results in true mental stability and peace, the ability to express agape love and defines for anyone a direction in life that compliments all of existence. I continue to search for better understanding.
Throughout high school years I was active in Christian youth groups, the Boy Scouts, and was a fairly regular reader of the Bible. My parents worshipped largely through their participation in the music of the church and my father served on several church boards as a deacon. They were not evangelistic and religion was a private matter for each individual. I felt no pressure from them, rather appreciated their example of living their lives, guided by Christian teachings. I certainly observed the Ten Commandments at work in their relationships with me and those around them. Their agape love for each other and me and willing giving to those in need, were indeed, excellent examples of Christianity in action.
Being raised in a lower middle class, white, conservative community reinforced my rather narrow understanding of the world and I became rather altruistic. Then came college.
I entertained the notion of studying for the ministry for a while but was drawn to science and medicine as I progressed through my high school studies. Still somewhat ambivalent about career directions when choosing college, I talked to the faculty of my eventual medical school to determine whether pursuing a liberal arts education would prejudice against my entry . They heartily endorsed attending a small liberal arts college so that, should I choose medicine as a career, I would have the advantage of a well-rounded education. I therefore entered a small Methodist college in Kansas and began a long educational journey which has never ended.
Among the required courses in this college was The Life and Teachings of Jesus which studied man's understanding of Christ and His impact on history. Part of the course was the examination of the origin of the scriptures. We learned that many of the Dead Sea Scrolls which eventually made up the books of the Bible were rejected by the Christian scholars of the time because the writings did not exactly meet the standards of the than accepted Christian beliefs. For example, reincarnation as a Christian principle "lost out" by only 12 votes during the Nicene conference. Therefore any scrolls referring to reincarnation were excluded. Hmmmmm.... and I had believed that the books of the Bible were not chosen by man but written by man to express God's teachings. My later exposure to other religions and their beliefs raised many doubts about the exclusivity of Christians having the true word of God. I felt somewhat betrayed by my Sunday school teachers who did not present alternative religious thought so I might form my own understanding of my relationship to God. Thus began the agnostic streams of thought which continue to this day.
This ambivalence about my religious beliefs resulted in my decision not to pursue the ministry but to focus on medicine. My majors in college were in Psychology and Biology with enough hours in Sociology to also warrant a major. During my studies in these courses, my rudimentary understanding of the biopsychosocial aspects of life and behavior was begun. I began to understand man's need for an understanding of existence and religion's role in combination with the life sciences in answering the unanswerable questions. I discovered that some of the "blind faith" of religion could be made less "blind" by the studies of science. I saw no reason that both scientific and religious approaches to understanding could not complement each other and continue to believe so today.
My first wife, whom I met in high school, was also a product of fundamentalist Christian education and, in fact, several of her Sunday school teachers became parent surrogates with much more influence over her thinking than her parents. As we dated, I attended many meetings of her youth group which had a ritualistic, exclusive, club-like orientation. She was never to change or question her Christian orientation and I continued to support her need for close ties to her church during our marriage. We served as youth ministers and I became a teacher for adult studies and an active member of the church board. These activities occurred during my medical school years and for a few years thereafter. Unfortunately, the social church made more and more demands on my time and our church home went through a severe split in the congregation over many political issues. In addition, my wife became more attached to surrogates in the church family and our relationship suffered severely. Eventually, not willing to fight those battles while trying to become a physician, I left the organized church and eventually my first marriage. I will not comment more about the nature of the dissolution of my first marriage as the details are not appropriate for this medium.
It was not until I met my second wife that I truly understood the meaning of unconditional (agape) love. Even through the infatuation of our early relationship, the deeper love was obviously different from any I had ever experienced before, even the unconditional love given to me by my parents. It is just as strong today as it was 30 years ago and if a gift from God, is certainly representative of the Christian understanding of agape.
So where am I in my Christian beliefs? Less Christian than I was when I was 14, but certainly under the influence of my learned Christian values. God is now less a father figure than a force in all existence. I am not so presumptive as to think that there is life after death as we know it and am agnostic about what happens to my life force (soul?) when I cease to be in this existence. In the meantime, I will continue to respect and support any belief system that results in true mental stability and peace, the ability to express agape love and defines for anyone a direction in life that compliments all of existence. I continue to search for better understanding.
Sunday, June 29, 2008
MUSIC
Music was always an instrumental (like the pun?) part of my family. In escaping the rigors of small farm life in Oklahoma, my mother left for KC and opera training. She had a wonderful lyrical soprano voice and became the featured soloist for various churches in the KC area. In fact, it was during one of church services where she sang that Dad first saw her and joined the choir to meet her. Dad had a good baritone voice but no real training. Although his primary purpose was to meet my mother, I am sure he was a good addition to the choir. They obviously enjoyed each other's company and after a fairly competitive courtship (many men were interested in dating my mom), Dad won out, and, as they say, "the rest was history".
I remember my mother practicing her scales and a great variety of vocal music. While in Iowa, at age 4-5, I would begin piano lessons. I remember the musical flash cards, the weekly lessons, the trauma of recitals and discipline of practice. Early on I realized that I had no talent for playing by ear and had to "woodshed" all that I played, learning each piece note by note. To this day, I envy those who can hear a tune and just sit down and play it. Mom would often monitor my practice sessions and I enjoyed her company and praise. She would rarely criticize, but would reinforce the instructions of my piano teacher. Mom was also an excellent pianist even though her vocal skills were superior. During our stay in Iowa, I learned the scales , worked on dexterity and speed exercises and learned rudimentary pieces like "Fifteen Men On A Pirate Boat". At age 5 or 6, I played that piece in an amateur contest on a radio station and won a $25 Savings Bond. Music began to be part of my identity.
When I was 9, we moved to Kansas and Mom enrolled me in both piano and voice lessons. At one time Mom and I were to sing together "Amahl and the Night Visitors" and practiced together for many weeks. At the last minute the production was cancelled but the experience of working together on this project was most memorable. One of the most vivid memories was when, in 5th grade, the grade school music teacher assembled the students and mothers to choose instruments for an orchestra. I wanted to play either the drums or the trumpet. As the music teacher announced his decisions about assignments, I eagerly anticipated playing either. I could not believe my ears when the teacher said I would play the violin! The reasoning behind the choice, I was told, was that I had "stringed experience" - playing the piano. This is one decision I fought from the beginning and after 3 months of agonizing lessons and complaining, I was able to give the violin to my cousin and began playing piano in the orchestra - a much better fit although not what I had hoped. Through grade school, I would play for assemblies, graduation, etc. I and four of my friends tried to form a band but sports interfered and we never got it off of the ground. I joined the youth choir at church as a boy soprano and sang several solos during church services.
During Jr High and High School, I continued to take piano and voice lessons but my activities were almost exclusively limited to singing. I sang in the operettas, glee clubs, acapella groups, barbershop quartets and even sang with a quartet that did radio breaks. Because I knew how to read music and could hit (occasionally, with great effort) a high G, I always was asked to sing second tenor. Our High School choir and acapella groups almost always got a "1" in State contests. Our choir director asked me to sing solo in state and prior to the contest, a judge listened to our contestants and made suggestions. When he heard me sing "Black Is the Color of My True Love's Hair" he said, "you will probably get a '1' at State but not as a tenor, your register is baritone." I sang as a baritone (like my Dad) and did indeed luck out with a "1". Music groups were a big part of my social activities in High School and led to many friendships.
I attended college at a small liberal arts college in Kansas and began singing in the choir as one of my activities. Then, an opportunity to play college golf (more in Sports later) which required daily practice sessions that interfered with choir practice, ended my participation in formal college music. I continued to sing in my fraternity events and later in church choirs. My piano playing became an activity only for my pleasure and continues so to this day although my wife claims to enjoy my playing and my grandson goes to sleep when I sing and play to him.
Through the years, I have tried to teach myself ukelele and guitar with little to show for the effort. My son now is charting a similar course and is borrowing my guitar on a trial basis. I wish him better patience than I have in learning this instrument.
I remember my mother practicing her scales and a great variety of vocal music. While in Iowa, at age 4-5, I would begin piano lessons. I remember the musical flash cards, the weekly lessons, the trauma of recitals and discipline of practice. Early on I realized that I had no talent for playing by ear and had to "woodshed" all that I played, learning each piece note by note. To this day, I envy those who can hear a tune and just sit down and play it. Mom would often monitor my practice sessions and I enjoyed her company and praise. She would rarely criticize, but would reinforce the instructions of my piano teacher. Mom was also an excellent pianist even though her vocal skills were superior. During our stay in Iowa, I learned the scales , worked on dexterity and speed exercises and learned rudimentary pieces like "Fifteen Men On A Pirate Boat". At age 5 or 6, I played that piece in an amateur contest on a radio station and won a $25 Savings Bond. Music began to be part of my identity.
When I was 9, we moved to Kansas and Mom enrolled me in both piano and voice lessons. At one time Mom and I were to sing together "Amahl and the Night Visitors" and practiced together for many weeks. At the last minute the production was cancelled but the experience of working together on this project was most memorable. One of the most vivid memories was when, in 5th grade, the grade school music teacher assembled the students and mothers to choose instruments for an orchestra. I wanted to play either the drums or the trumpet. As the music teacher announced his decisions about assignments, I eagerly anticipated playing either. I could not believe my ears when the teacher said I would play the violin! The reasoning behind the choice, I was told, was that I had "stringed experience" - playing the piano. This is one decision I fought from the beginning and after 3 months of agonizing lessons and complaining, I was able to give the violin to my cousin and began playing piano in the orchestra - a much better fit although not what I had hoped. Through grade school, I would play for assemblies, graduation, etc. I and four of my friends tried to form a band but sports interfered and we never got it off of the ground. I joined the youth choir at church as a boy soprano and sang several solos during church services.
During Jr High and High School, I continued to take piano and voice lessons but my activities were almost exclusively limited to singing. I sang in the operettas, glee clubs, acapella groups, barbershop quartets and even sang with a quartet that did radio breaks. Because I knew how to read music and could hit (occasionally, with great effort) a high G, I always was asked to sing second tenor. Our High School choir and acapella groups almost always got a "1" in State contests. Our choir director asked me to sing solo in state and prior to the contest, a judge listened to our contestants and made suggestions. When he heard me sing "Black Is the Color of My True Love's Hair" he said, "you will probably get a '1' at State but not as a tenor, your register is baritone." I sang as a baritone (like my Dad) and did indeed luck out with a "1". Music groups were a big part of my social activities in High School and led to many friendships.
I attended college at a small liberal arts college in Kansas and began singing in the choir as one of my activities. Then, an opportunity to play college golf (more in Sports later) which required daily practice sessions that interfered with choir practice, ended my participation in formal college music. I continued to sing in my fraternity events and later in church choirs. My piano playing became an activity only for my pleasure and continues so to this day although my wife claims to enjoy my playing and my grandson goes to sleep when I sing and play to him.
Through the years, I have tried to teach myself ukelele and guitar with little to show for the effort. My son now is charting a similar course and is borrowing my guitar on a trial basis. I wish him better patience than I have in learning this instrument.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Beginnings
The world did not exactly welcome my arrival. Mom swore that I had my foot stuck to her ribcage. After an exceptionally long labor, Mom's OB said that either I had to be "extracted" or mom would be at great risk to die trying to deliver (I was evidently wedged in the birth canal and a C-section was not thought possible). After an emergency call to a surgical specialist, the specialist (allegedly rushed to the hospital in a surgical gown from a previous delivery), performed a Dursian (sp?) cervical incision and delivered me with "blind" sharp forceps. Blind referring to the fact that he couldn't be sure where he placed the forceps. Speak about "primal scream"! I was so messed up that they wouldn't let my mother see me for ten days. We both survived, however, and all I have as evidence of the procedure are scars on my left cheek and under my right eye. I was to be an only child and I was certainly loved.
My first 10 months were spent in my birth city in New York, after which we moved to Iowa. My father's occupation (working for an envelope company) would see us transferred to Kansas in 1946 or 47 which became home for as long as I lived with my parents and several years thereafter.
Don't remember NY at all (even the Primal Scream episode) and my first memories were of our home in Iowa. I remember playing with blocks under the sewing table and watching my mother's feet work the pedals of the sewing machine. I remember playing "cowboys and indians" with my neighborhood friends; walking to kindergarten; chasing and catching butterflies and grasshoppers during recess; playing catch in the backyard with Dad (my first baseball glove - a black catcher's mit); swimming lessions; the ice man delivering ice for the ice box; the Manor Man delivering bread and pastries; the milk man delivering milk; the messy mulberry tree in the back yard which served as a starting post for my learning to ride my bike; leaf boats in the gutters; piano lessions as 4y/o; the Victory Garden and my prize winning tomatos; falling from a driveway wall and lacerating the skin above my right eye and the trip to the hospital; my tonsilectomy and the "stealing" of my favorite childhood companion (Dumbo the Elephant - they said it was too full of germs!) and my first attempt at golf (At 5 I followed my parents for two holes, using my wooden clubs and a rubber ball; got to the refreshment stand and stayed there drinking Orange Crush soda until my parents completed 9 holes). I also remember homemade bananna icecream; the trolley car which took us downtown and a very traumatic moment: my father made me confront a bully in the neighborhood, hit him in the nose and totally stopped his bullying - didn't want to fight and that, in fact, was the only serious fistfight I ever had except for boxing lessons.
Funny how memories build on one another. I now remember swimming lessons and graduation from the kiddie pool to the deep pool at 4 y/o; Halloween "trick or treat", not the usual trick however as the mothers in the neighborhood conspired to define "trick" as some performance for a treat. Sing a song, play a piece on the piano (my ususal trick) etc. Boy were we manipulated. I also remember fox and geese in the snow, making paths in the high grass in the empty lot (lots of good hiding places for secret clubs); the time I had to give a gift back to one of my birthday guests as he was asked to leave because of bad behavior and it would not have been "right" to take his gift to me (hmmmmm). I remember my maternal grandmother who lived with us and was never happy. Always a real grump. I remember many bike rides down our street, some of which stopped abruptly with resultant torn jeans and scrapes on knees and elbows. I remember the block being watched by the parents so we could sled down the steep hill at the end of the street. Lots of good snowball fights, snow forts; chickens in the chicken coup in the backyard (will always remember holding the feet of the chicken while Dad decapitated the bird - the feet kept wiggling and the headless bird's wings would flap if you didn't hold them tight - yuck!!). I remember pre-school, naps on the carpet, sharing toys with the other kids. I remember going to the big school in kindergarten, first and second grades. My favorite subject was recess followed closely by gym class. I remember the weekly reader and drilling on math flip cards. There are many Christmas memories: cutting real Christmas trees; throwing tinsel; leaving milk and cookies for Santa; church services with mom singing solos in the choir; carolers at the door. I am sure many more memories of these first years in Iowa will materialize and I promise to return to edit this post as they do.
My first 10 months were spent in my birth city in New York, after which we moved to Iowa. My father's occupation (working for an envelope company) would see us transferred to Kansas in 1946 or 47 which became home for as long as I lived with my parents and several years thereafter.
Don't remember NY at all (even the Primal Scream episode) and my first memories were of our home in Iowa. I remember playing with blocks under the sewing table and watching my mother's feet work the pedals of the sewing machine. I remember playing "cowboys and indians" with my neighborhood friends; walking to kindergarten; chasing and catching butterflies and grasshoppers during recess; playing catch in the backyard with Dad (my first baseball glove - a black catcher's mit); swimming lessions; the ice man delivering ice for the ice box; the Manor Man delivering bread and pastries; the milk man delivering milk; the messy mulberry tree in the back yard which served as a starting post for my learning to ride my bike; leaf boats in the gutters; piano lessions as 4y/o; the Victory Garden and my prize winning tomatos; falling from a driveway wall and lacerating the skin above my right eye and the trip to the hospital; my tonsilectomy and the "stealing" of my favorite childhood companion (Dumbo the Elephant - they said it was too full of germs!) and my first attempt at golf (At 5 I followed my parents for two holes, using my wooden clubs and a rubber ball; got to the refreshment stand and stayed there drinking Orange Crush soda until my parents completed 9 holes). I also remember homemade bananna icecream; the trolley car which took us downtown and a very traumatic moment: my father made me confront a bully in the neighborhood, hit him in the nose and totally stopped his bullying - didn't want to fight and that, in fact, was the only serious fistfight I ever had except for boxing lessons.
Funny how memories build on one another. I now remember swimming lessons and graduation from the kiddie pool to the deep pool at 4 y/o; Halloween "trick or treat", not the usual trick however as the mothers in the neighborhood conspired to define "trick" as some performance for a treat. Sing a song, play a piece on the piano (my ususal trick) etc. Boy were we manipulated. I also remember fox and geese in the snow, making paths in the high grass in the empty lot (lots of good hiding places for secret clubs); the time I had to give a gift back to one of my birthday guests as he was asked to leave because of bad behavior and it would not have been "right" to take his gift to me (hmmmmm). I remember my maternal grandmother who lived with us and was never happy. Always a real grump. I remember many bike rides down our street, some of which stopped abruptly with resultant torn jeans and scrapes on knees and elbows. I remember the block being watched by the parents so we could sled down the steep hill at the end of the street. Lots of good snowball fights, snow forts; chickens in the chicken coup in the backyard (will always remember holding the feet of the chicken while Dad decapitated the bird - the feet kept wiggling and the headless bird's wings would flap if you didn't hold them tight - yuck!!). I remember pre-school, naps on the carpet, sharing toys with the other kids. I remember going to the big school in kindergarten, first and second grades. My favorite subject was recess followed closely by gym class. I remember the weekly reader and drilling on math flip cards. There are many Christmas memories: cutting real Christmas trees; throwing tinsel; leaving milk and cookies for Santa; church services with mom singing solos in the choir; carolers at the door. I am sure many more memories of these first years in Iowa will materialize and I promise to return to edit this post as they do.
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
First Entry
I have finally decided to begin a web log of various aspects of my existence on this planet. I have already lost a few cells in my 67 y/o brain so some of my recollections may be more reflective of impressions of the past than actual facts. These first few sentences are to establish my blog and subsequent entries will hopefully contain interesting content. Here goes .........
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