Many years ago, before I got to be so wise and mature, even venerable, as you see me now, I went fishing far up a creek that runs through a canyon and into the upper Blackfoot River. I drove my old car in as far as I could get it, then climbed on up the canyon to fish the pools between a series of waterfalls that roared down from snowfields far above.
It was great fishing for anyone willing to cling to a wet cliff face while casting into the calm pockets on the downstream side of boulders the size of Buicks. And I had it all to myself: there weren’t any other fools up there.
At the end of the day I made my way back down to the car with some mighty nice fish; enough for a hearty supper. I decided to build a fire and cook them mountain man style and eat them right there. By the time I finished, it was getting dark, at least down there in that canyon. I decided to roll out my bedroom there by the car and get up at dawn to catch some more fish to take back to town.
After a good night’s sleep I awoke at daybreak and stood up in my bedroll to pull on my jeans. From the corner of my eye I saw movement. After a quick double-take I was staring at a running bear. Now a bear at full gallop is placing his hind feet in front of his front feet and moving at an awful speed. It’s especially awful when he’s coming directly at you.
The next thing I knew, I was inside my car and trying to slam the door shut, only the bear’s head was in the way. I slammed it anyway and at the last fraction of a second ol’ mister bear threw his snout straight up in the air and the door grazed his chin as it slammed shut. He hung around for a while, walking around on his hind legs and glaring through the windows at me. After a few minutes he ambled off, no doubt looking for something else to terrorize.
Now, I know what you’re thinking. You’re wondering if I went fishing again as planned, or wisely packed up and went back to town. All I’ll say is that it’s very difficult to cling to a wet cliff face while casting into calm pockets below boulders the size of Buicks while staring backward over your shoulder. But it was worth it: after all, I had the place all to myself.
It was great fishing for anyone willing to cling to a wet cliff face while casting into the calm pockets on the downstream side of boulders the size of Buicks. And I had it all to myself: there weren’t any other fools up there.
At the end of the day I made my way back down to the car with some mighty nice fish; enough for a hearty supper. I decided to build a fire and cook them mountain man style and eat them right there. By the time I finished, it was getting dark, at least down there in that canyon. I decided to roll out my bedroom there by the car and get up at dawn to catch some more fish to take back to town.
After a good night’s sleep I awoke at daybreak and stood up in my bedroll to pull on my jeans. From the corner of my eye I saw movement. After a quick double-take I was staring at a running bear. Now a bear at full gallop is placing his hind feet in front of his front feet and moving at an awful speed. It’s especially awful when he’s coming directly at you.
The next thing I knew, I was inside my car and trying to slam the door shut, only the bear’s head was in the way. I slammed it anyway and at the last fraction of a second ol’ mister bear threw his snout straight up in the air and the door grazed his chin as it slammed shut. He hung around for a while, walking around on his hind legs and glaring through the windows at me. After a few minutes he ambled off, no doubt looking for something else to terrorize.
Now, I know what you’re thinking. You’re wondering if I went fishing again as planned, or wisely packed up and went back to town. All I’ll say is that it’s very difficult to cling to a wet cliff face while casting into calm pockets below boulders the size of Buicks while staring backward over your shoulder. But it was worth it: after all, I had the place all to myself.
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