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Last cast: Willie Illingworth

48K views 89 replies 81 participants last post by  feisty's wife 
#1 Ā·
I just received a PM from Waterdog that Willie passed away this morning.

Jen
 
#40 Ā·
Gee, thanks, Willie.

Playing jokes on me, again!

I mispelled his name... so not only did I have to edit the first post, but every single one of them after that, since the title got copied again and again! Then, on top of that, you have to click TWICE to edit the title! Argh.

I misspelled Illingworth "Illingsworth".

Somehow, I bet he got a real kick out of that one. Huh, Willie?

He makes me smile, even today. Smile, and growl a little, too. :)

Jen
 
#45 Ā·
IN MEMORY OF WILLIE:

LORD. I LOVE A DRIFTBOAT By Dennis Dobson - Oregon Outdoors

The timeless, rhythmic slap of oars on water, the happy gurgling glug of the river as it dances beneath and around a slowly moving hull, capricious yet controlled; the boat slicing the current like a blunt knife in hot oil only to have the river seal itself again as if the boat had never been. The early morning chant of river birds and the quiet conversations, muffled by fog, mist or rain, of anglers rigging rods in the false-dawn glow of another early morning. Lord, I love a driftboat.
Watching each day, and being an integral part of, the season's change from winter's cold and wet to summer's heat and back again. Watching as the leaves turn first green then russet then drop silently to carpet the river bank or float silently downstream to who knows where. Playing my necessary and timeless role in the subtle shift from season to season, salmon to steelhead to trout, as the calendar notches up yet another year on the river. Yet another year in the life of an angler. Lord, I love a driftboat.
Shivering and nearly hypothermic, huddled quaking inside my aluminum cocoon in a drenching December rain or scorched, almost parboiled, by a sweltering August sun. Fighting a thirty-knot wind so cold water freezes in the rod's guides and they must be thawed by hand before the next cast. Bailing yet another two inches of rain out of the boat as one more shower, brief but biblically determined, passes overhead. The sheer joy of a perfect, postcard picture day in June whether the fish are biting or not. Lord, I love a driftboat.
Cradled in the rower's seat, as if cupped by a friendly familiar hand, the oars merely an extension of my arms, my will, myself. Knowing, without thinking, which run to take; which line through a treacherous stretch of water will bring me safely to its end. The concrete thump of an unseen rock smashing loudly, alarmingly, suddenly against the hull reminding me that next time I might want to think about the run before drifting it. Lord, I love a driftboat.
Knowing that today's conversations with a new and unknown crew are simply an extension of yesterday's and a harbinger of tomorrow's; that jokes told by one angler are echoed by another on some far and distant river in a language I'll never learn. Watching as my passengers, whether novice or pro, hunch their backs and quiver, like anxious bird dogs on point, waiting for a rod to kiss the river; proof-positive that yet another fish has taken the bait. Lord, I love a driftboat.
Realizing each morning that I still get just as excited when a fish hits as I did the first time a salmon or a steelhead ever graced my line. Relearning each and every day that while it is a gift each time I hook a brooding, brightly chromed fish, helping someone else do it is a blessing, a benediction, a prayer to the cosmos answered in brilliant flashes of silver, dusky pink and mottled blue/black. Lord, I love a driftboat.
This is from the STS web site.
Pete
 
#47 Ā·
That's nice, Roguesteelheader. I love a driftboat... I can relate. :)
 
#50 Ā·
RIP Willie, may this trip be with out snags.:smash:
Peace be with you and your family.
You are the legend and spots fishing thanks you!
:angel: :angel: :angel: :angel: :angel: :angel:
 
#51 Ā·
Thank you for everything Willie. A true legend.

Mark, Dawn, and the dog
 
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