60 years - Then 'n Now - My Story

[Carl]

First of all, I am not an avid fisherman. So I probably do not fall in the category where 10 percent of the fisherman catch 90 percent of the fish. But I did manage to tag 20 this last year.

I have accessed this web site a couple times a week for the past three months. Most of you may want to label me as a lurker just waiting to snatch information for personal use without contributing or sharing pertinent information of interest. Prior to my decision to get on board I simply wanted to be sure the content of this forum is right for me. I read the rules, (a little soft on abiding by) and can now possibly determine what is, or is not acceptable. I do find the information interesting and the dry humor entertaining. I also like the overwhelming support of many members encouraging safety (PFD’S) when on the water. Ok, I like the fishing tips and especially the location of all those zipper lip holes too. But who am I and what can I contribute of value? Perhaps just some simple reading entertainment.

My first name is Francis, but I go by my middle name, which is Carl. Since I am only an occasional fisherman, I did not create a clever moniker. If I post as often as I fish, I will be just a “fry” for a very long time.

You now have my name and know that I don’t fish often, so what the heck do I know about fishing in the Pacific Northwest? To answer that question I will take you all the way back to when I was born. Since that was a long time ago, this post may turn into a novel. Hey, Jennie’s posts are sometimes lengthy, and besides that, what else have you to do today if you are not out there fishing.

I was born in 1943 near a stream called Slab Creek in Neskowin, Oregon. I guess I should clarify that statement because it appears to be misleading. I was born in a house that was near that stream. My father worked off and on in the timber industry and our economic situation was just above the poverty level. Of course there was no way that I would know that at the time. Putting food on the table generally came from what every domestic resource that was available. You know chickens for eggs, cows for milk, beef for meat and so forth. Plus, there was hunting and fishing. Since we did not hunt, supplementing groceries meant having a juicy salmon steak to dine on. In getting that steak I can only speak of the fishing mentality of those close to me and my own personal experience as I remember it.

I kind of think Slab Creek had a run of Coho's but I can’t remember if I ever ventured across the old highway 101 to make that definitive observation. When I was 2 years of age we moved far away to a very small house on the Salmon River, two or three miles up from Otis Junction.

It is 1946, I am three years old, a little brother was born at home, mom was busy and I began to explore the area around me. At that age I don’t think I ventured too far away from the house. Mom never had rules about where I could or could not go I just had to be within shouting distance. Which rarely ever happen until suppertime.

By the time I was four, I started going to the river. Hey, it is ok; I can still hear my mom if she calls. I learned a lot playing in and on the river. Turning over rocks would expose all kinds of creatures, crawdads, periwinkles and strange looking bugs. Residing in the flowing water were millions of minnows and small fish. Along the river edge were a vast variety of birds, finches, kingfishers, dippers and an occasional gull. I loved just watching all those living things. As a little kid I was absorbing a wealth of information. I had about 200 or 300 yards of the riverbank dialed in. I could even run bare foot across the rocks at nearly full speed. Eye and foot coordination was acute. Although an occasional miscalculation had consequences, I fell in sometimes. A small amount of current can have a lot of force depending on the depth. But I learned how to respect the river at a very early age.

Ralph, my uncle, (mom’s younger brother) came to visit us a couple of times. I learned over time that he was hard core, fish anywhere for anything. My very first exposure to fishing is when uncle Ralph, my parents and I went down to the Cedar Tree Hole. I guess Ralph had enough fishing poles for everybody except me. OK, so I only got to watch, but I learned that fish ate worms. It was simple, put the worm on the hook, flip it out there, pull the trout out and put it in the bucket. No casting or cranking! Just flip it out there, wait a couple of seconds and pull it back in. They all said the fish were trout, but I now suspect they were smolts. Kept a couple hundred (exaggeration) of those little guys. Although I did not get to fish, I knew that was something I would like to do.

When Ralph left after his first visit, I decided I was going to go fishing one day. I am probably about five years old now. I swiped some string and a straight pin from my mom’s sewing machine. Went down to the river, got a long stick, tied the string to my “fishing pole” and the other end to the pin which I bent into the shape of a “v”. I had a spot on that river, where a very large spruce tree grew out from the bank at an odd angle. The tree had an “L” shape at the base, which was over a section of the river that was 4-5 feet deep. Lots of smolts in that hole, but I fished and I fished and never ever hooked one. They would just take the worm right off my “hook”. I was just feeding them. It wasn’t as simple as I thought.

One day when I went there with my makeshift-fishing pole I saw a monstrous fish in that little hole. It was a Chinook! Not that I knew that it was a Chinook at the time, it was just a very big fish. I wasn’t about to drop my line down in that hole. The size of that fish was too intimating. So I just lay there and watched it for what seemed like hours. Later my mom told me it was a salmon that I saw and they come up the river every year. The next day it was gone.

Ralph came back the following year. I think I may be about six years old now. Mom got me my first pair of shoes because I had started school. Boy, did those shoes hurt. At least I only had to wear them for school. Anyway, Ralph is back again and this time he tells my mom we are going cat fishing. Cat fishing! Wow, I am excited and you can imagine what I visualized what a catfish looked like. Well, we all went that evening, mom, dad, Ralph and I. My older sister stayed home to baby sit my little three old brother. We went to Devils Lake where highway 101 just brushes the lake. More learning, catfish eat worms too. Once again there were just the three poles. Oh lucky me, I get to watch again. The catfish looked very similar to the mud cats (or bullheads) that I had discovered hiding under the rocks on the Salmon River. Only these were much bigger and the head did not look like a kitty.

A few days later, Ralph told my mom he was going to take me trout fishing on the lake, just the two of us. I was ecstatic because I am going fishing with Ralph. I may be only six years old, but already I feel a little more grown up. Off we go to Devils Lake. Once we were there, Ralph drags out an old army surplus raft. I watch as he lays it out on the grass, opens the hood of his pickup, removes a spark plug, attaches a hose to where the spark plug was, hooks the other end to a valve on the raft. He starts up the motor and slowly the raft begins to inflate. Once inflated, he attaches a small outboard engine to the back of the raft, slips the raft into the water and tells me to jump in. I do and now I am sitting in what could be a crude bomb. The raft is inflated with a mixture of fuel and air. Only missing one ingredient; I suppose I was fortunate that Ralph did not smoke. Ralph throws in a couple of poles and some other stuff and off we go. We are going to pull ford fenders attached to a short leader and a worm. Ralph rigs up both rods, strips out the desired length of line and puts the poles in make shift pole holders. He instructs me to watch the tip of the pole and if it starts bouncing around to let him know. Which I did. Every time a fish was hooked, Ralph would grab the rod and land the fish. The trout were really nice, much, much bigger then the smolts that they caught at the ole Cedar Tree Hole. Sure, I was probably disappointed not being allowed to handle the fishing pole, but I did get to go. I guess Ralph took me along just so he could fish with two poles.

Now something good happened shortly after that. I can’t remember the reason why, but Ralph gave me a fishing pole and a small amount of tackle. I got the stuff just in the nick of time because right after that, my dad ran Ralph off. I over heard that it had something to do with the way he was looking at my sister. It was several years before I ever saw Ralph again.

The fishing rod was not a Zebco outfit with that little red and white bobber, but it was certainly an upgrade from my tree branch. One day, (probably the day after Ralph left) I gather up some worms, my precious pole and down I go to the Cedar Tree Hole. I really liked that Cedar Tree Hole, especially when some teenage girls from across the river would occasionally go skinny dipping there. But today I am sort of hoping they won’t be there because I don’t want them to spook the fish. I bait up and flip it out right at the trailing end of some riffles leading in the hole. Wham, jerk, and a quick back pedal to higher ground. A huge sea run cutthroat flopping at my bare feet. My very first fish, bigger then those little smolts, bigger then the trout from Devils Lake and I caught it all by myself. I was so proud that I grabbed it with both hands (after the hook was removed) held it to my chest and ran all the way home to show mom. Mom did not have the same enthusiasm as I did. “That’s nice” she said “now sit down for supper because your dad will be home any minute“. “I can’t” I blurted out, “I left my fishing pole down by the river” and ran out the door to retrieve it. This is very unusual behavior on my part because at that age you always do what you are told to do, or suffer the consequences. I will probably get my butt beat when I get back, but right now I am retrieving my fishing pole. In reality it probably would have been safe for weeks lying there. But, you know I am still on that adrenaline rush and in no time I am back at the Cedar Tree Hole. I pick up my pole and the worms. Aw what the heck, I bait up again and flip it out to the exact same spot. Wham, jerk, back pedal. Another fat sea run cut throat! This time I walk home with all my gear and the second fish. I beat my dad home and this time mom is impressed. “Looks like we have enough for supper tomorrow” she says. Six years of age, I am putting food on the table.

I don’t remember how well I did after catching my first two trout, but do remember experimenting with a diversity of baits. Crawdad tails, periwinkles, grasshoppers....etc. I learned what worked and what did not work. Huckleberries did not work!

We moved again. I am probably about seven years old now. We moved two or three miles up river to Fred’s (my dads first cousin) place. A barn, a house, a machine shed, 20 acres, all on the Salmon River. Another section of the river with a couple tributaries to explore. And a new way to catch fish.

One day in the middle or late fall, (I remember a lot of leaves in the river) Fred, John (my older half brother) and another dude (relative?) that I did not know gathered at the house and discussed the probability of getting some fish. Before I go any further, I would like to describe Fred. Fred was a salty rollie pollie type of guy. Always wore the same outfit; black knee boots, black and white striped bib overalls and a red flannel shirt. When he spoke, in that deep chain saw voice, peppered with explicit adjectives, you knew right away that he is in charge. He was quite a colorful character. Anyway, late that evening they hauled out the gill net that was stored in the barn and we all went down to the corner hole. Fred is barking out orders, John is sent to the other side to pull the rope and net across. I suspected something wasn’t quite right with this operation since they would immediately turn off the flashlights when a car was passing by. The net is only in the water for 10 or 15 minutes when someone says it feels pretty heavy now. Then they pull it back. Lots of leaves and lots of fish. Maybe 10-12 salmon. Some big, some small, some really bright and others with color. None were thrown back.

I think that this was an annual event, although this was the only time that I ever witnessed it. Mom got stuck with the cleaning and cooking of our share. She would pressure cook quart jars of fish to be stored in the pantry. Personally, I thought the canned fish were pretty nasty looking in the jars. Not too tasty either, I preferred fried salmon steaks, which generally occurred when a single salmon was brought home. This is a good lead into the next method of how I learned to catch a salmon.

Occasionally my dad would bring home just a single salmon for supper. I never knew how he did it until one night, he said it was ok for me to tag along. Dad gets his fishing gear, flashlight, gunnysack and a gaff hook. We go down to a section of the river that is wide and fairly shallow. As we neared the water edge I could hear lots of splashing. The flashlight revealed hundreds (in you stood there long enough) of salmon moving up river. Dad simply waiting for the “right” one to swim by and nails it with the gaff. This was the way he did it several more times over the next couple of months. I can’t say I learned a lot, it looked pretty easy considering the number of salmon the river supported.

There was creek that ran by the barn that was also loaded with salmon during the peak of the run. The creek was supposed to be off limits according to my dad. There were so many fish I used to try and pet them. Which I could, but sometimes it resulted in a face full of water if they suddenly took off.

However, I do remember one day when Fred got a pitchfork out of the barn and went down to the creek. Well, since he owned the land, he must own the creek and it was his pitchfork, so it must be OK. Fred is poised in the shallows like a heron waiting for the right moment. With the grace and fluidness of a ballet dancer, Fred has a salmon on the bank. Ah, such skill level, that was my cousin Fred, my favorite of many role models.

A year or two later we moved again a little further down the river. I guess I must be about nine (1952) we moved into the back of a filling station. I think my grand parents bought it as an investment and my parents (or mom, since dad worked in the mill across the road) were to run it. It was the first and only place where we lived that had an indoor toilet, bathtub and hot water heater. Our economic situation seemed to be better now, but we still used the gaff to bring any salmon home. Actually, it was I bringing home the salmon. Mom would occasionally ask me to go get her a fish. In broad daylight I would get the gunnysack and gaff and go get a fish. By now I knew areas of the river where the fish were stacked up or hiding under a log or something. So getting one was never difficult. Gaffing was not the only way.

I legally caught my first salmon during this time period. I had found a red/white dare devil and was practicing casting. I really did not believe a fish would strike at a piece of metal, but it did happen. During the retrieve I watched a small Coho swim right up and grab it. I reacted faster then sprung mousetrap, in less then two seconds that fish was on the bank. It was a freak accident; this fish had to be confused.

We moved the next year because my grand parents sold the filling station and bought a farm in between Mist and Vernonia. It is 1953, I am 10 years old and we are living without indoor plumbing again. Economically we are beginning to struggle. My dad has me and my little brother (he is seven) on an involuntary strength-training program that summer. We cut, split, and stack firewood and cedar fence posts. The tough part for my brother and I was carrying one end of a drag saw through the brush and up hills. Very exhausting, but muscle building. I guess there was not a big market for fire wood and fence posts, as we never seemed to have any money. Although we lived right next to the Nehalem River, I don’t ever remember having fish for supper. We didn’t cut wood every day, so I did manage to do some river exploration. Once, after a few days of rain I saw several rolling in hole called “Big Eddy”. But they were all pretty dark. The most salmon I ever saw was right next the grade school in Mist. During the winter flood, a near by stream overflowed into a cow pasture and maybe 50-60 salmon was out there swimming around in just a few inches of water. That must have been quite a sight to see one half (13.5 kids) of the entire school chasing those fish around.

The next summer we moved to Grande Round into a couple of abandon trailer houses where my dad continued to cut fire wood for a living. I was getting pretty fast at splitting and stacking the stuff. I had to; dad had gotten himself a chain saw. But it wasn’t always all work and no play; I did catch a few trout in a nearby stream. Near the end of summer, we moved back to Fred’s place.

It was nice to be back to a familiar place, unfortunately the house was no longer there so we moved into the machine shed. Not only did we not have indoor plumbing; we didn’t even have an outhouse. Nor did we cut firewood for income. Dad had all (everybody) of us out in the woods cutting and loading small logs on his truck to be hauled to the paper mill in Oregon City. But this was only temporarily, eventually dad got a job in a sawmill and we moved again.

This time we moved into a two-room shack that slept the five of us. Although the premise did have an outhouse, the old machine shed was the “Hilton” in comparison to this place.

A couple months later we moved to a bigger shack only a few hundred yards from Red Bridge Hole. It is 1954; I am 11 years old and I will live here for the next six years. Rose Lodge grade school was just beyond the bridge. So twice a day I would cross the Salmon River on my way to and from school. The hole under the bridge was a great swimming hole in the summer and a very popular place to fish in the fall. So during the salmon season the bridge provided a superb vantage point to observe the locals. Plunking salmon roe was the norm. During the peak of runs, limiting out generally took less then an hour per person. Pressure on the river was very light. From the bridge, depending on water clarity, and of course the angle of the sun, you could see so many salmon that it looked like a big dark cloud moving around. That little river had one heck of a lot of salmon.

It wasn’t long before I had this section of that river dialed in. A couple of miles in either direction would overlap into sections that I was already familiar with. Within these excursions, I would occasionally run into a fisherman and I would intensely observe how they fished. Legally catching salmon looked a little more challenging, but fun. That is according to the exuberant reaction of the fishermen that I observed hooking and landing a salmon. Eventually I obtained a pole that was suitable for this type of fishing.

Now that I have salmon pole and being able to hook up with a fellow classmate, my passion to catch salmon transitioned towards being more sports oriented then food gathering. It was more fun to travel around with a pal. However, none of my pals, to my knowledge, had ever received basic “how to or what to look for” regarding fishing. It was always through trial and error, and of course, observing others. Knowing the structure of the river bottom and water conditions was critical. I learned what holes the salmon would rest in, when the bite might occur, what slots they would pass through and that they would be right next to the bank when the water was high and murky.

Lots of knowledge was also acquired during low water. To go shopping for tackle, we would take our Stern’s inflatable; I mean Goodyear inflatable and drift down the river picking up lost tackle. The quality stuff was usually in the tree branches. Novices fishing for chipmunks? On some sections of the river that we floated I would visualize just where would the salmon be when the river was at a different level and color. Very useful information for next season.

I began to consistently bring home the bacon, legally. Occasionally I would unintentionally snag one. Hopefully, I would end up with just a small scale centered on the point of my hook. From my past experience if you hook ’em in the rudder you will probably have to re-rig. With a limited supply of tackle, I really don’t want to loose any gear. Since snagging is a big issue for all you ifish members, I want you to know that it was almost non-existent back then. I never saw an adult intentionally do it.

When I got my first bicycle (it was a girls bike) it enabled me to travel greater distances. By the time I was 15 I had traversed the entire river from the headwaters to the very mouth. There were never signs posted no trespassing. The locals had river access everywhere. Every hole had a name; Garden, Guardrail, Elevator Shaft, Gotts, Bear Creek, Rapid Inn, Car Body, Ritz. Etc. There was even one location (out of respect) that was simply referred to as “in back of Annie’s.” So, as a kid I had unlimited choices where to go if I wanted to fish. Some of the time, I would not even fish, I would just check to see what’s happening. My favorite was Rapid Inn Hole, a small falls, and a deep pool. The salmon would really stack up there, and watching them navigate the falls was entertaining and educational. At times there were six or seven deep side by side resting around the entire perimeter of the hole. The inside ones would be forcing the outside ones out of the water. A Kodak moment of a single click would probably capture a 100 plus. Without exaggeration, there were probably an addition 1000 beneath the surface that you could not see. The most puzzling memory was that it was never a combat zone. I rarely ever saw anyone fish that location. I suspect that just maybe, many fishermen targeted the fresher salmon in the lower part of the river. However, from the school bus that I rode to high school, I rarely saw more then a couple of rigs near the tidewater area.

I think it would be safe to assume that during the 1940’s through the 1950’s all coastal rivers supported a healthy run of salmon. Who knows, there may have been questionable fishing methods practiced on other rivers. But that was then.

In 1960 I enlisted in the military.

So now, more then 40 years later I occasionally go out and pound the waters, the ocean, the Columbia, T-Bay, and a little bit of the tide water. I have not fished Salmon River for several years. No trespassing signs are abundant. And near tide water where I used to see only a couple of rigs, now there are a 100+. Oh I could probably elbow my way in and get a fish, but I would like to think that the fish I did not catch would eventually make it back to that little stream next to the barn.

I own a couple boats, have maybe 20 rods in the garage and an assortment of tackle that I have not seen in awhile. Throughout my fishing years I have experienced or witness many memorable moments. Usually something that was extraordinarily funny or amazing. I have met many wonderful fishermen and some, well, not so wonderful. I may even know some of you on this board, but not by your moniker. I do recognize a couple names.

In 1966, I met Lloyd Johnson in San Diego. We were both in the military and were classmates in an electronics school. At the time, I thought it was safe to brag about the superb fishing in the northwest. After being honorably discharged four years later I happen to run into Lloyd at my place of employment in downtown Portland. He claimed it was employment opportunities that prompted him to leave Minnesota to come here. I think it was the fishing as it did not take him long establish some new roots. Plus he raised and coached his son, David to become one of the finest guilds in the northwest. I am proud to say that I have been privileged to several fishing adventures with his son.

From 1975 to 1995, I just happened to live across the street from Frank Amato. So when his son, Nick was not out partying, or was recovering from one I would frequently take him fishing with me. Usually it was when he was recovering from one. Matter-in-fact, if any of you still have the STS October-November 1991 issue, that Chinook on the cover was hooked on Nick’s rod. He was sound asleep in the cuddy cabin at the time. Since then, in appreciation to my early generosity, Nick has reciprocated many times over by letting me tag along with him. When with Nick, in addition to the probability of hooking something, one thing for sure, you will have fun.

I know this post is not the typical introductory fish story, but it is my story.

Carl Affolter

[10 more minutes]

Wow, that was some story.

Welcome to Ifish...........
Mike

[ 02-05-2004, 11:34 AM: Message edited by: 10 more minutes ]

[jokester]

That's probably gotta be THE best IFISH intro story I think i've heard! [img]graemlins/applause.gif[/img] I enjoyed every bit of it Carl!!!! Welcome to the board

-jokester

[Time Off]

Welcome aboard. It sounds like you could contribute a lot with your experiences.

[Ray S.]

Wow, that's quite the saga. Welcome aboard Carl. I am your neighbor from the south side of salmon creek. Great story...
Ray

[kamloops]

I also grew up on Neskowin creek in the early 60's and 70's. I spent every minute fishing on that creek, I would walk from Cascade Head(south beach every day to the creek, spend all day fishing than head home at 5:00. My favorite
was fly fishing the royal coachmans for the little cutthroats.

[fatfish]

Best intro story that I have read. Thanks for sharing.

[zipper]

Great story Carl! Welcome aboard. Your story sounds alot like my late fathers story - a bit like Huck Finn along the mighty Mississippi! zip

[ 02-05-2004, 11:12 AM: Message edited by: zipper ]

[WHO'S BELLS RINGING?]

ENJOYED THE STORY. WE ARE THE SAME AGE. I DIN'T GROW UP NEAR RIVERS BUT STARTED FISHING AT AN EARLY AGE. MY EARLIEST MEMORY WAS FISHING AT TANNER CREEK WHEN I WAS ABOUT 5 OR 6 . I USED TO BUG MY DAD TO PUT A ROCK ON MY LINE SO I COULD CAST FOR ROCK FISH DIDN'T LIKE PLUNKING AT THE TIME SO I WOULD STAND THERE CASTING A ROCK WITH AN OLD KNUCKLE BUSTER FOR HOURS. IT DID INABLE ME TO BECOME A GOOD CASTER HOWEVER AS I WON SEVERAL CONTESTS AT THE OLD CASTING POND AT EAST MORLAND CASTING POND THANKS AGAIN LARRY H.

[Cosmic Lazy Susan]

Great story, very enjoyable read.

Glad to have you on the board.

Dale

[blacktail]

Welcome Carl. That was an excellent story!

Mike

[Pitch Pocket]

Well written and a slice of history. Thank you!

[snit]

What a great story! That made my day Carl. Nice to meet ya, Kyle Snitily (snit)

[TillamookChinook]

Welcome aboard. That story must be a record.

TC

[SHOUGALNITE]

Welcome :smile:

[bassin]

Welcome: neighbor

[SturgeonKing50]

Best story I have ever read on I-Fish. I wish there were more like it. Reminds me of when I was a kid and grew up on the creek. Life was very good then . I have to wonder sometimes what has happened to our world. I miss those times alot. Thanks again Carl. SK50 :smile:

[rojo]

Great story. I'm a couple of years older, but also raised in that part of Oregon (Taft, Depoe Bay, Newport and Garibaldi). Brings back memories. Welcome....Roger

[Nick Amato]

Nice post Carl. Just wanted to thank you for introducing me to tidewater salmon fishing. It's hard to believe that was 20 years ago.

[k9jeff]

Welcome to the site. That was a neat story.


K9

[Bait O' Eggs]

Welcome, I enjoyed the story very much.

There were many parts of the story that reminded me of family stories I have heard over the years. I feel like I know you :grin:

It was a pleasure to read a well written story. Dont be bashful tell another one from time to time. :smile:

[NorthRiverRick]

Great story Carl, welcome aboard!

Hint: you could have broken that story up into enough posts to be a Chinook member already. :grin:

[fop]

As an old fella, that was also born in 1943, I really enjoyed your introduction story, or is it stories?

I can relate to many of the aspects of the "good ol' days"

But, I just can't remember not ever being without indoor plumbing. Can remember alot of Alder leaves for T paper though out on the river. It was also nice to see that we made it through an era without TV and video games for such a long time.

My first rod was probably a limb too! But, sure do remember many fishing trips similar to yours.

Thanks for the good time I had reading it and it sure is nice to read without a bunch of spelling errors. It sounds to me that you had a good upbringing, except for the netting/gaffing, and are doing good now.

Thanks again,

fop

[Stz ll]

Welcome aboard!!

[ 02-05-2004, 03:40 PM: Message edited by: Stz ll ]

[Beerbelly]

Welcome!!!!!!!

[shalom]

Welcome that was a great story. I really enjoyed reading your story.I like old time storys, my first post was in the Bass and Panfish and it was about the old days all so. I.m six years older than you . We should get together,go fishing and talk about the good old days.

[Jignfloat]

Great story!!!!!

Welcome aboard Carl!!! [img]graemlins/applause.gif[/img]


Russ

[fishnpray]

Carl-

Thanks for sharing your story!! [img]graemlins/applause.gif[/img] [img]graemlins/applause.gif[/img] I like hearing about when things were a bit more stable as far as the runs go, and most folks have something interesting to tell by the time they've lived long enough to learn to type. Your introduction is appreciated.

-Luis

[Billy Tillamook]

Howdy Carl,Way to come on board with grand style!
By the way I still have my STS mag with you on the cover. [img]graemlins/applause.gif[/img] Welcome

[dampainter]

Thank you for sharing that, it was/is a great read.

[boo]

Welcome Carl. What a wonderful read. It is the best I've seen in some time, certainly a timely reaffirmation of why we all follow this site so stubbornly. I hope you continue to write for us out here.
Boo

[whitewaterbill]

Sure glad you are not avid or in the 10%...

How about coming along with me and showing me what all you don't know!!!???

Make that story a book and it will become a great movie....

Thanks for taking the time to share that great life history....You had a priceless childhood!

SG

[Mtn Man]

Welcome to ifish.

It's sounds like your life so far has been very fulfilling. Maybe we'll run into each other around town. I live in Hazel Dell and usually wear my ifish hat.

MM

[Canyon Man]

Welcome to ifish! Great story...

[SlappinH20]

Welcome Carl!
Your story is awesome! Reminds me of some things I heard my Grandparents talking with my Dad about in the late sixties or so, about on the Trask. I can barely remember them talking of a landowner there at the time and rumors of nets going across the river at night :shocked:
Found some old pictures couple of years ago of them all fishing on the Trask in the early `50s...pretty cool! :smile:


Thanks for sharing! [img]graemlins/applause.gif[/img]

[Dakotan]

Wow Carl, that was an awesome st [img]graemlins/lurk.gif[/img] ory!!! Enjoyed every minute of it. Thanks for sharing that great story!

[Diehard]

Carl, excellent story. The best I have heard yet.
You can really tell a good story, I felt like I was right there with you on your many trips to the river!
Welcome

[h20dog]

Nice novel Carl, [img]graemlins/applause.gif[/img] Welcome aboard. look forward to more stories :grin:

[finclipped]

Great Story, reminded me a little bit of "The River Why", I kept getting mental pictures of the what the coast was like 50 years ago. Thank you.

[Slade]

That was a great history. Thanks for sharing.

[NAUTI-NOTIONS]

Great story,Great job writting it. kinda feel like I know ya now,
enjoy the site,its what ya make of it.
Sam

[Fisherfield]

Welcome Carl!

Great story...thanks for sharing. Good stuff here all the time, and I know you only fish once and a while...I'd bet you know where you are going and how you are going to catch your fish...so please share that stuff. I don't have 60 years fishing experience...some day, I will and will share too!

[wts]

Thanks Carl!
In over two years visiting this site that was the best story I've seen.
WT

[onthebank]

Thank you Carl.

[onthebank]

Thank you Carl.

[mtpar]

I read the whole thing!

You have a talent with the pen. Have you considered taking up novel or book writing?
Maybe short stories! LOL

Welcome to ifish. I look forward to a few more of your stories

mtpar

[RiverDog]

Carl, your story should be in STS. Ever think about it? Enjoyed readig the whole thing.

[Lemon Head]

Carl,.....If there were more writings like that, I would be more inclined to read good literature.
Thanks.......LH

[Birdnest]

Carl,

Wow, very cool writing style and a very intersting subject. Don't be a stranger. [img]graemlins/applause.gif[/img]

Joe

[BUGLEMAN]

Thanks for the good read.

[Silverside]

WOW That story should be made into a movie. Welcome aboard

[Big TULE]

Awesome... Makes me wish i was around at that time to fish. I just hope out kids will remember the fishing like you did... If you ever want to fish i am very easy to find. Welcome aboard...

Chris

[SPAZZ]

Great story. I rember my dad telling me of fish in the river like that when he was a kid. I love hearing about the old days :grin: Welcome

[Carl]

When I posted this story I never dreamed that I would receive so many responses. I have to admit that it took several hours to compose it on a separate word processing program. The program does not check for grammar but the spell checker was real handy. I had already drafted the story in my head and tried to be very careful how I told my story due to probable reader sensitivity regarding netting and gaffing salmon. So I peppered it with some humor, tried to paint a picture of what it was like back then and to lightly touch on the poverty that I grew up in. I have never written a story before (except in school which I got an “F”) but this one was fairly easy. When I did finish it, I was so nervous that I might offend someone that it took me another three days to even post it.

Thank you all for such a warm welcome and all those positive comments, I am so relieved.

It has been suggested that I should write more stories, I just may do that.

Carl Affolter

[Full Freezer]

That is an amazing real life story. You win the ifish Pulitzer prize for that. I look forward to hearing more!

Welcome & thanks!

Full Freezer

[Sir Fishalot]

Astounding story Carl! Your story definately needs to be published so that others can enjoy reading it (maybe in a magazine like STS?). I will be looking forward to reading future posts from you.

As far as the parts about netting and gaffing the salmon it did make me cringe when reading it. However, there are a few things that make it very understandable. For one, you were just a child doing what your mentors taught you to do, and also you quit doing it when you came of age and found the better way. Another thing is that you and your family did need those fish to eat because you couln't afford to buy food.

[Grandpa Lynn]

Great story! Sounds like you know more about Salmon fishing than most of us will ever have the priveledge of knowing. You should publish a book on fishing for Salmon/Steelhead.

[Skipper]

Hi Carl,
Thanks for joining, and sharing some delightful stories.

It brought me back to my era of 1964 – 1980 on the Salmon River. My grandfather bought one of the lots from the old Guptile’s (sp) Trout Farm next to Panther Creek. That’s about 2 miles up river from Otis.

He ended up owning 200 yds of Salmon River frontage, 100 yds of Panther Creek frontage, and the largest trout pond from Guptile’s Farm. Fisherman’s Delight. My grandfather taught me a lot about fishing. I visited and fished the Salmon River at age 10 to 18 (1967 – 1976), but never caught a salmon there. I guess the numbers of returning fish had dropped off by then, and/or I didn’t learn enough in the short visits. It was fun to watch the Fall Chinook jumping up the 1st falls on Panther Creek just outside of my grandfathers’ living room window. I heard stories of locals holding out a salmon landing net and the salmon jumping into the net. I also heard the salmon used to be so thick that one could cross the Salmon river on the backs of salmon.

There was also an old rusting chair at Panther Creek left behind from and earlier fisherman - Luhr Jensen sat there, designed, and made fishing lures.

It’s a small world.

Cheerio’
Skipper

[Kuja]

Great story,welcome aboard

[fishhard]

Wow what a story, now that's a life of fishing from the ground up! Good luck in the future and welcome to the board!