Jennie@ifish
05-10-2001, 06:54 AM
"Haven't you ever read the books by Dave Hughes?"
I have been asked that repeatedly through the years. I always had to think hard about that. Dang, the name always rung familiar! I just couldn't piece it together, and I never did get around to searching for his books.
I met two very lovely and unforgettable people probably 15 years ago, fishing the beaches of the Columbia with Ben Tagliovento.
Hope and Bill.
Last time I saw Hope and Bill, I had caught a beautiful Spring Chinook in Youngs Bay with Dennis Stewart. I hopped out of the boat, into my car, and headed straight over to Hope and Bill's house. I knew what I wanted to do with my salmon, and it had been too long since I had seen them. I knew that the salmon would make Hope smile, and in turn, make me one proud fisher person!
My mind traveled back to a time years ago, when my phone rang. It was Hope, telling me her salmon was just coming out of the smoker, and would I like to try some?
I left her house that day, with a brown paper bag, nearly full of the most expertly smoked salmon I had ever tasted. It was still warm, and Andrew and I pulled over and ate that smoked salmon in the car, with it's oils dripping down our elbows. There is nothing like an excellent food experience for creating permanent memories!
As I pulled my freshly caught salmon out of the car and headed to their doorway last Spring, I past the expanse of their garden. It was newly planted with corn and many other goodies. Memories flooded me. I remembered bringing them silver salmon during the fall months. I would leave with my car full of corn and tomatoes in trade, and a nice feeling in my heart.
These are unforgettable, hard working people, full of life. I knew they were special, not only from my experience, but from daily fishing with Ben, in which he would start the days conversation off with what was happening with Hope and Bill...
We would put our rods out, and stand outside until rain forced us into the warmth of his Ford Ranger. A cup of hot coffee was poured, and onto the small talk of the day.
"Bill and Hope's corn crop is doing well this year." Or "Hope's knees are not doing very well right now, I worry about her."
Sometimes I would hear, and I hope this doesn't get out.(!)
"I took Bill out trout fishing yesterday and all he could say when the bite was slow, was, "I should be home plowing right now. I have so much to do... I could be putting in the tomatoes..." (and on with his list of chores) That would frustrate Ben so much!
The stories that evoked the most vivid imagination, as I stared at the tip of my rod and into the expanse of the Columbia, were told of Bill and Ben's adventures on their fly fishing trips. Hiking up small coastal rivers to fly fish for cutthroat. I found myself experiencing it through Ben's stories and I still feel today that I must have gone with them.
I heard the same stories more than once, but I never minded. I liked going to these places in my mind, just as I fish holes myself, over and over.
I knocked on the door, leaving my salmon near the ever familiar faucet near the garden. Hope came to the door with a smile that I would dearly love to see right now. I told her of my catch and would she like some to smoke?
She invited me in. We sat around the living room talking of her son, the one who is an author. The one who is a great fly fishermen. Pride was in both of their voices as they searched for his books but was unable to locate one at that time. They spoke of his accomplishments that intrigued me. They wanted me to phone the next day, as he would be visiting, and I agreed I would love to talk with him.
Much later, we walked outside to hose off the salmon, to slice some for their dinner.
I left their house and drove home, satisfied with the gifts we had both receive. Me, a warm welcome and both of us, a lovely visit.
I missed talking on the phone with their son the next day by a matter of minutes. Dave had left to fish.
Dave Hughes.
Yesterday in the mail, I received a book from Pete Morris as a gift, and oh... what a gift it was!
"An Anglers Astoria", by Dave Hughes.
"I know who this is!"
I lay in bed last night, learning 'the rest of the story'. The stories I never heard. A rich history of his parents, Hope and Bill, that has provided Dave with the love for fishing, and salmon, and the Astoria fishing opportunites, that are so evident in Dave's book.
The places I had heard about from Ben, suddenly came alive with detail!
"Slender stems of bracken fern poked between the ties and spread broad fronds. Delicate lady ferns..."
Oh my! I know these places!
I'm going to call Bill and Hope today. I'm going to thank them for bringing Dave Hughes into this world.
And thank you, Pete, for bringing me full circle on this!
Jen
I have been asked that repeatedly through the years. I always had to think hard about that. Dang, the name always rung familiar! I just couldn't piece it together, and I never did get around to searching for his books.
I met two very lovely and unforgettable people probably 15 years ago, fishing the beaches of the Columbia with Ben Tagliovento.
Hope and Bill.
Last time I saw Hope and Bill, I had caught a beautiful Spring Chinook in Youngs Bay with Dennis Stewart. I hopped out of the boat, into my car, and headed straight over to Hope and Bill's house. I knew what I wanted to do with my salmon, and it had been too long since I had seen them. I knew that the salmon would make Hope smile, and in turn, make me one proud fisher person!
My mind traveled back to a time years ago, when my phone rang. It was Hope, telling me her salmon was just coming out of the smoker, and would I like to try some?
I left her house that day, with a brown paper bag, nearly full of the most expertly smoked salmon I had ever tasted. It was still warm, and Andrew and I pulled over and ate that smoked salmon in the car, with it's oils dripping down our elbows. There is nothing like an excellent food experience for creating permanent memories!
As I pulled my freshly caught salmon out of the car and headed to their doorway last Spring, I past the expanse of their garden. It was newly planted with corn and many other goodies. Memories flooded me. I remembered bringing them silver salmon during the fall months. I would leave with my car full of corn and tomatoes in trade, and a nice feeling in my heart.
These are unforgettable, hard working people, full of life. I knew they were special, not only from my experience, but from daily fishing with Ben, in which he would start the days conversation off with what was happening with Hope and Bill...
We would put our rods out, and stand outside until rain forced us into the warmth of his Ford Ranger. A cup of hot coffee was poured, and onto the small talk of the day.
"Bill and Hope's corn crop is doing well this year." Or "Hope's knees are not doing very well right now, I worry about her."
Sometimes I would hear, and I hope this doesn't get out.(!)
"I took Bill out trout fishing yesterday and all he could say when the bite was slow, was, "I should be home plowing right now. I have so much to do... I could be putting in the tomatoes..." (and on with his list of chores) That would frustrate Ben so much!
The stories that evoked the most vivid imagination, as I stared at the tip of my rod and into the expanse of the Columbia, were told of Bill and Ben's adventures on their fly fishing trips. Hiking up small coastal rivers to fly fish for cutthroat. I found myself experiencing it through Ben's stories and I still feel today that I must have gone with them.
I heard the same stories more than once, but I never minded. I liked going to these places in my mind, just as I fish holes myself, over and over.
I knocked on the door, leaving my salmon near the ever familiar faucet near the garden. Hope came to the door with a smile that I would dearly love to see right now. I told her of my catch and would she like some to smoke?
She invited me in. We sat around the living room talking of her son, the one who is an author. The one who is a great fly fishermen. Pride was in both of their voices as they searched for his books but was unable to locate one at that time. They spoke of his accomplishments that intrigued me. They wanted me to phone the next day, as he would be visiting, and I agreed I would love to talk with him.
Much later, we walked outside to hose off the salmon, to slice some for their dinner.
I left their house and drove home, satisfied with the gifts we had both receive. Me, a warm welcome and both of us, a lovely visit.
I missed talking on the phone with their son the next day by a matter of minutes. Dave had left to fish.
Dave Hughes.
Yesterday in the mail, I received a book from Pete Morris as a gift, and oh... what a gift it was!
"An Anglers Astoria", by Dave Hughes.
"I know who this is!"
I lay in bed last night, learning 'the rest of the story'. The stories I never heard. A rich history of his parents, Hope and Bill, that has provided Dave with the love for fishing, and salmon, and the Astoria fishing opportunites, that are so evident in Dave's book.
The places I had heard about from Ben, suddenly came alive with detail!
"Slender stems of bracken fern poked between the ties and spread broad fronds. Delicate lady ferns..."
Oh my! I know these places!
I'm going to call Bill and Hope today. I'm going to thank them for bringing Dave Hughes into this world.
And thank you, Pete, for bringing me full circle on this!
Jen