• Visit: Moldy Chum
  • Visit: The Horse's Mouth
  • Visit: Chi Wulff
  • Visit: Parks' Fly Shop
  • Visit: Montana Cowgirl
  • Sunday, May 28, 2006

    Yellowstone Requiem


    -- WWII is over and, on this memorial day, we remember our relatives and friends that died in service. As we ponder life & death, two good friends come to mind. They died this last year, and we remember them here.
    -- Charlotte Smith, neighbor and friend, is gone from us. We sent her to far flung places to fish with our flies. She enriched our life with tales of joy and bright fish. We miss her deeply and grieve with Larry. She and Larry owned and hosted Sleepy Hollow, the fly fishing retreat in West Yellowstone, Montana. I pass the house daily, the memories leap at me. Those of you that knew her were certainly bouyed by her spirit, as I was. (Sleepy Hollow)


    -- Jerry Galvan, friend, neighbor, fishing partner, and father to a fine family has departed. We fished with Jerry in a time long ago. The Owens River, Slough Creek, The Gualala, The Upper Sac, Palma Creek, the memories are rich. We fished the bait recievers in San Diego Bay for baracuda, mackrel and bonito. We prowled the lagoons and shorelines of Carlsbad, Encinitas, and Oceanside. We pounded the surf for corbina, surf perch, and once a very ugly needle fish. Farm ponds and decorative water in the front lawns of Fallbrook, Carlsbad and Vista, provided bass and bluegills - wherever there were fish we chased them.
    --We once built a minature fly rod with very, very, small flies, (about 32's,) and tried for mosquito fish in the casting pond at Balboa Park in San Diego. Hot Creek, Hat Creek, both Walkers and the Truckee - it mattered not!
    -- The San Diego river and a couple of it's tributaries hold bass - Jerry knew where to find them - in the shadow of Mission San Diego, or the shadow of the giant stadium, (whatever it's current name,) we pounded them, (joggers were perplexed.) All the San Diego lakes, (big bluegills on poppers,) the San Gabriel River, (trout & rattlesnakes,) even the Tiajuana River, (don't eat these fish,) there are many place to fish if you look - and if you grew up there.
    -- We coursed the Owens River Ranch and John Arcalarius' place for giants. From downtown Hoopa to Arcata we scored and got skunked. Half-pounders were a passion for a while. The Mad, The Mattole, The Smith, The Cal-Salmon, the "Damn" Dusen, (from the top of the box cars,) they called and we came. The Russian River in muddy flood or dead dry gravel was always a challenge, (success came in the form of Bill Shadt.) We exercised flies from size 24 to 2xl 9/0 in fresh and saltwater.
    -- During his last visit here we stayed in the crummy cabins at Roosevelt, in Yellowstone Park. We fished the raging plunge pool on the Yellowstone River below Teddy's camp, and Soda Butte, and the Lamar - across the bridge, and Slough Creek. We traded hats, joked and even caught fish.
    -- Jerry loved bamboo, he enjoyed prairie dogs, he served his country and wore a bullet around his neck. He chased fish to the equator and back; always with a smile and always with success. His ashes are sprinkled on the Upper Sac that he loved so well. I'll return there next year and fish with him - maybe the opener at Crowley too - he'd like that - I will too. (Sierra Drifters)

    No comments: