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King Salmon
Join Date: Dec 2001
Location: The Narrows, Wilson River.
Posts: 6,151
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Warm & Fuzzy post for the holidays
*I posted this awhile back.. I thought it was appropriate to post it again*
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It never failed. Ronny would show up a few minutes after I opened up the garage door. He seemed to know the moment that I was ready to start loading my gear into the boat and truck. He only lived two houses away, but I swear that kid had some kind of fishing radar.
Ronny was a special kid to all the neighbors on the block. Being all of 12 years old, his mind didn’t work like others kids his age. On a few occasions, I heard the other kids teasing him with cruel names. At times, I would chase a few of those kids off, telling them that they were being very mean to an adorable kid. Ronny deserved the “special education” because he was quite the special kid.
I would be throwing life jackets under the boat seat, or making sure the oars were securely strapped in the boat and Ronny would come up to me.
“Going fishing?” he asked.
“Yup Ronny, I am.” I would give in a smile-ridden response.
“Gonna catch steelhead?”
“That’s the plan, Ronny.”
“Cool.” He grinned a toothy grin. Then every time he would ask me the same thing. “When are you gonna take me?”
As I had replied 50 or 60 times in the past, I’d say, “Someday soon.”
Ronny never let that hope fade. Never once did that wish of his seem impossible. I’d let him help me put rods in the back of the truck, carry the tackle box, and allow him the ultimate task of carrying the net to the truck. On this occasion, he pretended to be netting a 24 lb. Steelhead from the raging waters of my front lawn.
Ronny would always enjoy the 15 minutes we’d spend together every few nights during the winter run. When it came time for me to head back inside and catch a good nights rest, he’d give me a “high-five” and thumbs up.
“Good luck catching steelhead.” He’d say.
“Thanks Ronny” I would reply as I shut the garage door.
The events would transpire somewhat differently when I returned home the following day. Ronny would run up as I was backing in the driveway and wait patiently as I got out of my truck.
“How was steelhead fishing?’ he wanted to now the moment my feet hit the concrete.
On good fishing days, I let him take a look in the fish box. His eyes nearly bugged out a few times. He would want to help me by holding the fish as washed off the slime. He would always remind me that this one was by far the biggest I had ever brought home.
On the less productive days, he would still help me unload the gear and with his huge smile never fading tell me, “There is always next time.”
“Yeah, Ronny. There always is.”
This went on for years. It started when he was about seven or eight years old.
Last February, the evening routine with loading all the gear was in full swing. Ronny was grinning, asking all the same innocent questions when the phone rang. It was my fishing buddy calling to inform me that his wife had decided to have the baby two weeks early. He was calling from the car while driving her to the hospital. The NERVE of that woman! I wished them luck and walked back out my truck.
I told Ronny that we would have to put all the gear away, because my fishing buddy pooped out on me. Ronny was a bit confused because this had never happened before. Oh sure, we had a cancelled a few trips in the early morning due to rain, but never the night before after all the gear was loaded. As I picked up the net to hand to Ronny, the idea hit me like a metalhead against a plug.
“Ronny,” I said. “Go get your dad and ask him if he can come talk to me real quick.”
A few minutes later, Mike arrived and we exchanged a few pleasantries.
“Ronny said you wanted to talk to me?” Mike asked.
I told him my “plan” and asked his permission to take Ronny down the Wilson. I explained the easy drift from Mills Bridge to Sollie Smith. Mike didn’t have to think long about it. He made a quick call from my phone to his wife and soon gave me permission.
The next morning, I walked outside at 5:00 AM. Ronny was there on my doorstep, grinning madly. I asked him how long he had been there. He told me that he had got to my door a half hour early, so he wouldn’t be late. I laughed and thought about the fact that he only lived 3 houses away.
We pretty much had the river to ourselves. It was low, clear and devoid of crowds. Not wanting to make a huge ordeal out of a new fisherman, I elected to use plugs exclusively. By the time we had rounded the corner below Donaldsons, I was beginning to think that we weren’t gonna hammer one this time. It turned out I was wrong.
Half way through the Josie hole, the left rod went down hard. Ronny grabbed the rod, did an excellent job in removing it from the holder and set the hook like a pro. I dropped the anchor and began to calmly give him instructions.
“Let him run,” I ‘d say. Followed by “Keep the line tight!”
Ronny managed the fish wonderfully. A few minutes later, the tired 7 lb steelie was next to the boat. I looked and saw what I had already expected- an adipose fin. I told Ronny that we had to let this one go because, as I had explained to him earlier, that this fish was special. It was special, just like him, and it needed to go back into the water.
Ronny thought about it for a moment and then grinned.
“O.K.” he said. “I’ll catch a keeper next time.”
Ronny has been fishing with me several times now, and has boated a few nice summer fish on the Columbia. To him, however, it is still not the same. His dream of catching a (hatchery) winter run steelhead in my driftboat remains intact.
I share the same dream. I’ll get you that fish, Ronny.
--spud-- :smile:
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