Any longer distances were marginalized by his inability to haul line due to his physical challenge. He had done his homework and could with complete accuracy cast up to thirty five feet of line with ease. In my head with considerably less confidence I thought, we’ll figure it out. Somewhere in the miasma I found my voice and said equally pointedly “ To hell with those guys, get in”. I was inspired by him, angry at those other guides, and not surprisingly, completely overwhelmed at the prospect he had presented. The measure of thoughts that went thru my head in the brief moments after he finished his speech amazes me to this day. If you don’t think you can do this for me tell me now and save me the disappointment.” Nevertheless, I am determined to catch a fish on this rod and have taught myself to cast and operate the reel with my left. I’m well aware that fly fishing with one arm is next to impossible and in fact three different guides on this trip have all told me I was wasting my time. I was injured in a race one day when my horse rolled over on me. Many years ago I was a professional jockey. He looks at me pointedly and says, “ Before we go I need to tell you something. Introductions are made and I offer to stow his rod and gear bag. He seems quite somber and reserved for a guy going fishing. He’s an older gentleman, small in stature, holding a fly rod with an automatic reel attached to it. I meet my customer for the day, Austin, at the entryway of an rv park about halfway between our put in and take out. There is in equal measure riffles and runs that hold westslope cutthroat trout that to this day defy explanation for their size. This is an unimaginably beautiful piece of water that is heavily shaded from both pine and aspen trees. The plan is to float the drift boat from an unimproved ramp down to the confluence with the South Fork. A fact that frustrates and befuddles fishing companions to this day that swear my one eye sees better than their two without explanation.įast forward twenty nine years and I’m meeting my guide customer for the day on the upper Coeur d’ Alene River. For all intent and purpose, I am legally blind in my left eye. The optic nerve was crushed in much the same manner that a pipe would be if driven over by a truck. Unlike all of my siblings, I never had my own bicycle until purchasing my own as an adult, my mother swore forever after that I was a sweet boy until I got that bump on my head and the vision in my left eye would be permanently damaged. I was very closely watched and tended too and suffered few lasting effects, with two or three possible exceptions. I stayed in the hospital a few days more and then went home to continue to recuperate. What I recall is the near pandemonium my meek voice caused and that it was quite some time before anyone actually thought to feed me. The story as told by my mother was that my first words were “I’m hungry”. I had landed on the front left side of my helmetless head and suffered a severe concussion that left me comatose and clinging to life. I awakened eleven days later in the intensive care unit of Deaconess Hospital. I remember the handles being yanked from my hands and me throwing my hands in the air. As I approached the merger of the road my Grandpa lived on and the highway, I rode full speed into a large patch of loose gravel. So much so that I failed to notice how loose the front tire was. Whatever the speed I was trying to achieve I do know I could get very close with maximum effort, but it was impossible to maintain it. ![]() I think it was unlikely, in hindsight, as I was having trouble keeping up with Paul. It was a stingray with the old banana seat, ape hanger handle bars and best yet, a speedometer! In my mind I’m convinced that my goal on this ride was to reach 20mph on the speedo. The bike I was on belonged to my much older cousin David and I chose it specifically for its accessories. In 1974 two eleven year old boys routinely made such decisions without fear, not sure that’s true today. My cousin Paul and I decided to ride bicycles over to say hi to our Grandfather, a distance of roughly two miles. On this day my family was visiting my aunt, uncle and cousins in the nearby farming community of Hayford, Washington, just outside Spokane. Eleven to be exact and full of adventure.
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