Since my time here at Dutch John, things haven’t exactly been smooth. It’s been a little depressing, especially for a dream job. But today…
We finally had multiple shuttles! Yeah- more money.
I got my truck back! A little bit of money out (a lot) but it’s back.
I finally got a green river trout landed. 5 actually. A couple of 15’s, a 16, a 17, and an 18″. All browns and feisty!
Overall, it’s been a good day. Maybe the initiation phase is over.
Ouch.
Today was my opportunity to get back to Salt Lake and take care of business, but more importantly to see the little lady.
I got gas this morning, pack my things, shuttled a truck and trailer from the dam to the take out point, and got out of town. I made it about 20 miles.
To make a long story short, I stopped my truck, turned it off for a minute, and then tried to restart.
No go.
The truck acted as if it were dead. A few people tried giving me a jump.
No go. The second gentleman and his wife who offered help also gave me a tow to a resort shop.
The service guys at the resort tried to help me figure it out. We didn’t get it started but now have parts on order and hopefully tomorrow, I’ll be back on the road.
Me and my honey are so very bummed out. I’m not sure when the next opportunity will come, hopefully next week, but i will try again.
Is there a lesson to be learned here? Maybe not by the break down but maybe this:
Last night I woke up at 2 a.m. and contemplated which way I should go home. Either through the town of Vernal, Utah which is a little bit longer; or through Wyoming which is shorter, but maybe more perilous.
I thought it over and over. Everybody here said Vernal. I wanted a shorter route and was thinking I would the risk the wilds of Wyoming.
Back and forth I went. Solid, known, tested wisdom of others vs. Self indulgence of getting there quicker. Finally I decided to go with the wisdom of others.
Eventually, I faded back to sleep.
My truck died exactly at the intersection of the two routes. I ended up not going either way. I wasted all that sleeping time worrying about it and none of it mattered.
Lesson? Don’t waste time on stupid stuff. Just decide to do the wise choice and be done with it.
The sun finally shone today. Uninterrupted by clouds or snow. It was lovely.
I took the sunny day to get some things done outside. Shoveled some snow away from my trailer, worked on the propane tanks, and troubleshoot a little battery problem that has been happening.
In the “heat” of the afternoon, I took a little stroll around the neighborhood that will soon be full of people once word gets out that spring may have sprung.
Last night the elk cruised by. They were hard to miss and this morning their tracks were all over the hillside. On my walk, I noticed others that have also passed, but unnoticed.
An owl swooped by, but refused to pose for a pic and left no tracks.
And of course my own tracks.
Without the snow. We would have no idea of all the critters that cross our path everyday.
I wonder what else goes on of which we have no idea.
As I got ready to settle in for the night, I noticed I had some new neighbors. A herd of elk moved in across the road from me.
I stood in the snow watching them with awe. They grazed. Occasionally glanced over at me, but really didn’t me much attention. The younger ones chased each other around.
I noticed that I had stayed out too long watching them as i started to shiver and get cold.
It was at that moment that it occurred to me that it was I who was the new neighbor. This was their house. I’m the one outside of my element. They were having dinner and playing around.
Sometimes we think a little too highly of ourselves as humans. When actually we’re the outsiders looking in.
Hey kids,
At the time of this writing this evening, I have not seen a single other person today. I know they’re out there but they must be hunkered down in their own places of shelter.
The wind and snow continued today, but mostly the wind. The trailer shook and creaked. And then finally it stopped. The sun kind of came out and I went for a walk around the neighborhood.
This storm is fitting a losing war. The little bit of sun was working on the edges of the snow banks and the birds were busy picking small bits from the plants still above the snow line. In a week, this storm will just be a fading memory as the springtime reclaims its time from the Chair of the seasons committee.
There will be plenty of people around soon enough. Although it’s been cold and at times unsettling enough to wake up and stay awake, the solitude is nice. More items got done inside the trailer and the walk through the fresh snow void of footprints other than my own has been precious. There are not that many times like this in this life. I do savor them.
Hey kids!
Today was my first day on the job. For old man winter it was just another day at the office.
The snow came early this morning and just kept coming. Inch after inch. The small snow, the stuff that really piles up. As the old saying goes: Small snow- deep snow. Big snow- little snow. Or something like that.
After shuttling one trailer, it was time to turn it in. There was not to be any more business.
So I have sat in my trailer, watching the snow pile around me. I worked on some things that needed some attention, checked the internet for fan mail (haha), and generally cabin fevered the day away.
I’m expecting more of the same tomorrow and again on Wednesday.
It’s kind of hard to make a good first impression as a rookie when the seasoned veteran shows off.
I took a little walk along the river this afternoon/evening. Covered about 2 miles round trip.
The walk brought back memories of days long gone and fishing when I was a much younger man. Those were some fun times.
I started the walk at a place called Little Hole. A place where it was recorded that John Westley Powell and his company stopped 154 years ago.
I believe most people concentrate on the fishing when they walk this path. I also fished, there’s no harm or judgement in that. But I wonder if anyone also thinks of the history that flows through that valley just as much as does the water.
As much as I like to think I’m adventurous, I tend to lean on the side of the known.
I kept a steady job for 30 years. It was safe. Although I might have pushed boundaries within that world, I was almost always sure of my footing. I had a plan and I carried it through. 30 years and I was out.
It took about 2 months before I was getting nervous about finding a job I would enjoy. A friend recommended me for a warehouse job and I took it. Steady as a 40 hour/week could get. I could have safely stayed there forever.
Yesterday I learned the whole meaning of out on a limb. Sure I had been to the Green River before, but to set out unsure of the road conditions (it has been snowing every other day lately), if I could time out the storms correctly, whether the truck could pull the trailer over the long steep grades, whether the trailer was going to hold together, arriving in a town I really didn’t know, not knowing where to meet anyone, not knowing where I was to park my trailer, whether I had prepared correctly for the single digit temperatures coming up this week; it was all a guess.
I survived. I found a spot. I’m going to meet people today. And the trailer and truck are working just fine.
I’m out here. Still not sure if this was the best decision. But here we go.
Utah, and the western US, has been in a little bit of a drought the past few years… err, decades.
This year, the snow has been piling up. And in these parts drought or not drought depends on the winter snowfall and the subsequent spring run-off.
The mountains have received the most snowfall this year than ever before, beating a 40 year record from 1983. Well over 700″ in fact. It makes the tops and valleys have a rounded, soft look to them as the heavy snowfall fills in the nooks and crannies pretty well.
While driving by Mt. Timpanogos yesterday, we marveled at the “softness” of the mountain, discussed the incoming flooding potential, and yet the overall joy of having a great water year before us.
The mountain seemed proud of what it has accomplished this season. And there’s more snow still coming! More inches and feet to add to the record. More water to quench the thirsty valleys and reservoirs below. More beautiful splendor to peacock on these brief clear sunny afternoons between storms.
Still adding on. A little extra.
While we were basking in the glow of the winter’s accomplishment, I silently kept an eye on the shrouded peak. 11,750 feet above sea level, hiding in the clouds, stands the summit.
And there, I once stood. On a whim I took the 11 hours it took to hike there and back. I too took a little extra moment to remember. A memory I will never forget, an accomplishment to be personally proud of.
I’ve been up there.
It gave the moment a little extra.
For me anyway.
Hey kids!
As I work down my list of things to pack before next weekend, I’m finding that there’s are some good hiding places for things I haven’t used for a while.
There was a time when my fly equipment was always within a arms length away. The rod hung on my wall, the vest was hanging inside the front entry coat closet, the net leaning against the wall just below it. Waders were packed neatly in a tub on top of my boots. All could be loaded into the vehicle in minutes, and off we would go to our favorite waters nearby. At least one day on the weekend and one evening during the week after work were thus engaged. Sometimes two. No matter the season.
Then came the gap years. When the fishing time dried up for a number of reasons. Long story(ies).
When I returned to my fishing ways, I left the fly fishing ways and began bass fishing. Striped Bass was my favorite and actually predated my flyfishing days when I lived near the San Joaquin and Sacramento River deltas in California. But also Smallmouth and Largemouth bass. I built up a new arsenal of equipment that took its prominent space and attention.
Now I’m headed back to flyfishing country.
All my flyfishing gear has retreated to back corners and dark recesses. It took hours to find much of it, assess its somewhat familiar but aged and dusty condition, and pack it up for next week’s journey.
There is, however, one fly rod that has escaped detection. I have the reel in hand but the rod, the long 9′ or possibly two pieces of 54″ each, is missing.
This was once my uncompromising friend. My partner in crime. My sometimes seemingly Raison d’etre.
In just a few short years I have allowed it to disappear from thought, care, and location. I have turned the house inside out and have yet to find it. It’s as if it never existed. Had my circumstances not changed to redirect my attention, I wonder if I would have ever paid any thought to it again?
I also wonder what else, and maybe even who else, of which or whom I might have likewise lost track?
Mike M Jensen 