Experience the ambiance of living in Montana by visiting Buckskin Jim's photo gallery. We hope you enjoy!
 Once, when I lived over the mountains in Missoula, Montana, I had the good fortune to know Johnny Walker. As brief as our acquaintance was, he was my best friend and I was his. And I’m the only one who knows the true story of his tragic death……because I was there. So here, dear reader, is the true story of the life and death of Johnny Walker.
It all started one soft June day when I packed my old lunchbox and drove up the Big Blackfoot River to catch the main ingredients of a fish-fry. I parked my rig and hiked in to a beautiful pool on a relatively inaccessible stretch of river. Now, I know this is going to shock you fly fishing purists and I’m ashamed to admit it, but, well…..I was fishing with worms. Yes, it sounds crass and unsporting (and it was) but I was fishing for dinner. And I didn’t know any better. Anyhow, there I was, standing on a grassy bank next to a deep clear pool, with a spinning rod and a can of worms. Now these Blackfoot River fish were used to fisherman flailing the water with fly lines and bits of feather. My offering of worms was something new and they fell for it hook, line, and sinker, so to speak. I was catching fish on each cast, as soon as worm hit water. So fast were they biting that I got carried away with the fish fever madness. (Again, I’m ashamed to admit it, but it’s true.) As soon as I took a fish off the hook I simply tossed it into the grass behind me, baited up, and cast again. There’s no telling how long my madness might have lasted had something not happened to break the spell. One of the fish in the grass behind me, a fine twelve inch cutthroat, was actually walking on his fins back toward the Big Blackfoot. Helped along with vigorous wags of his tail, he was walking surprisingly quickly (for a fish) back to the water. Of course, I snatched him up and tossed him back up the bank. Twisting in the air like a cat, he landed on his feet, I mean his fins, and started back for the water. Now, he was my best fish and I didn’t want to lose him so again I tossed him up the bank. And again, he headed for the water. Only by now he was beginning to stagger a little, his gills laboring painfully in the dry air. By now my madness was passing and I began to see things from the fish’s point of view. Quickly filling my lunchbox with river water I gently placed him inside and hovered over him as he slowly recovered. I know what you’re thinking: I should have released him back into the river. But I just couldn’t do it. He was my best fish, a walking fish, a brave fish and I just couldn’t part with him. Gathering up the rest of my catch (now deceased), I freshened the water in the lunchbox and headed for town. As soon as I got home I ran a bathtub of cold water, put my amazing cutthroat in it, dropping in a couple worms just in case he was hungry. Over the next few days I fed him and changed his water regularly. Sometimes I’d take him out of the water and put him on the floor just to watch him walk. I named him Johnny Walker. As time went by I realized he was becoming more tolerant of being out in the air, spending more and more time walking about the house. Eventually he progressed to the point he was following me around the house all day, only returning to his bathtub at night to sleep. ———To Be Continued——- Such was the life of Cutthroat Johnny Walker. Next time, I’ll tell you more about his amazing life and relate the circumstances of his tragic death. I can’t write more now as I have to get ready to attend the Little Shell Chippewa Powwow at the First People’s Buffalo Jump near Ulm, Montana August 29-30th, 2015. Look for my booth at the powwow. |
Buckskin Jim camping with his teepee
WELCOME!As part of this blog, I am going to be sharing with you my Montana adventures. All my stories will be posted under the category, "Buckskin Jim's Absolutely True Experiences". I hope you enjoy reading them as much as I enjoy sharing them with you! Archives
June 2016
Categories |
RSS Feed