Getting Up Early

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posted on Feb, 7 2014 @ 04:48 PM
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Getting up early! What teenager wants to do that? That requires some kind of special reason and for me it was to go fishing with my dad. After a hardy breakfast of bacon and eggs we would load up our gear while mom packed a lunch for us and filled a large thermos with strong coffee, the only kind she knew how to make.

The trip to where ever we were going was always sprinkled with stories, questions and observations. The cab of the truck would always be warm and some times I would have to fight off sleep. I would poor each of us a cup of coffee as we drove along through beautiful trees and along side clear streams. The smell and taste of that coffee shared with my dad has never faded from my memory. How many times did I look across that cab at the side of his face covered with a scraggly beard? How I loved to watch the corner of his lips curl up in a smile, it made me feel so safe and secure.

We both loved fly fishing so we would find a place where one of us would fish upstream and the other would fish downstream. Although there was no real competition, we knew that who ever caught their limit and got back to the truck first won. After a while we would fight over which direction because we knew the streams so well and we knew the best likelihood of success. A coin toss often settled which direction we each took.

Dad swore by the Royal Coachman but I was an Elk Hair Caddis guy. He was slow and methodical and covered the water like an artist paints a canvas. I was young and impatient, utilizing my youth and strength to move back and forth, from side to side, over rocks and logs, to reach every possible trout hiding place.

We would always stop and have lunch. If we didn't have our limits by noon we would clean our fish and nestle them into some wet ferns and put them into the cooler. We would laugh and toss bits of our sandwiches to the squirrels and camp robbers. We would try to see how close we could draw them in. We would then discuss which stream we would go to next to try to limit out. We typically drove out to the farthest point we were willing to drive so we had plenty of options driving back.

Some of the streams were brushy and some were swampy, some were large and some barely four feet across. Some harbored rainbows, some cutthroat, some brook and some bull trout, which were still legal to catch in most streams. Each of the streams had their own smell, some like granite, others musky, and others with a myriad of wildflower fragrances.

We ate huckleberries from the bushes that hung out over the water along with thimble berries and wild strawberries. Our fingers and lips would be stained, attesting to our presence. My connection to the earth and to my father was so tangible. We drank from the same cold clear waters and breathed in the same life giving mountain air.

The ride back home was always a special time rehearsing the stories of the fish we caught and those we lost. Laughing and expressing our mutual joy and appreciation for the world we shared. I am so glad I got up early.




posted on Feb, 7 2014 @ 05:13 PM
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That is a nice story. I wish I had stories like that
My earliest was of him taking me to bank in Cleveland. Not to rob it, but to fix its computers. It had an electric car inside.

I remember a trip to Younkers in NY. Not sure if it it sa city or a store. I was a kid running around, got bored and went into the back. They said kid you can't come back here and I said oh yes I can, my dads fixing your computers. that was back in the 70s i bet



posted on Feb, 7 2014 @ 05:46 PM
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reply to post by tinner07
 

Thanks for taking the time to read my story. I have currently been revisiting those memories and recording them for my grandsons so someday they will be able to read some of their inheritance to understand their heritage.



posted on Feb, 7 2014 @ 05:59 PM
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reply to post by grayeagle
 


Hey no problem. I enjoy and envy those stories. Don't get me wrong, i am proud as f22k of my dad. I just wish it was more fishing stories.

80 words a minute morse code...you learned fishing I learned morse code. I think you won buddy



posted on Feb, 8 2014 @ 10:50 AM
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reply to post by grayeagle
 


That's indeed a great story friend. It's one of those stories you will always think about and always smile
...Thanks for sharing it



posted on Feb, 8 2014 @ 11:32 AM
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reply to post by grayeagle
 


Wow. That brought back memories of camping and fishing with my family. And camp robbers! I had forgotten their greedy, scheming winged selves!

I appreciated you weaving in the sensory elements and contrasts between you and your father - good details for pulling in a strong sense of place - how the streams smelled especially, and the berries.

peace,
AB



posted on Feb, 8 2014 @ 03:05 PM
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Thanks Doc and Above Board! You folks are such an encouragement to me.

I find such peace and joy in revisiting the moments when the world was beautiful and I knew who I was and where I belonged.

Peace to you my friends.

grayeagle



posted on Feb, 9 2014 @ 08:08 AM
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reply to post by grayeagle
 


Lovely story! Takes me back to when my girls were teens and I would cook breakfast at camp, load it in a backpack with a thermos of hot coffee and hike it down to the lake where they would already be fishing. Good times and a wonderful memory for a Sunday morning- bless you for invoking it friend!



posted on Feb, 9 2014 @ 09:16 AM
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reply to post by littled16
 

I imagine those were some wonderful times you shared with your family. As wonderful as my memories are, the challenge for me is to continue to create those same opportunities to look back upon someday with joy and wonder. Peace to you my dear friend.





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