Haunted by waters

"I am haunted by waters"   - Norman Maclean, author of "A river runs through it".

                 Fishing spots are timeless places. Every body of water holds precious memories. Still today, when I'm arriving at favorite local haunts, I can vividly recall the very first time I ever rolled up at each place, as well as the friends whom share those  memories. The excitement, the hope, the adventure, the fun, all come flooding back into my mind upon the headlights telling me I have arrived at each fishing destination. I can almost smell the sweet exhaust of my dads pick-up truck and the comfort I felt when I was with him. He used to jokingly say, "you guys are "F-n" crazy for wanting to be dropped off way out here!" and telling us to be careful and that he'd sound the horn when he came back after sunset. (I was about 13 at the time) 

Some of these reservoirs look to be likely places a stolen car or dead body would be found, as they still do today. Back then, you'd likely see a group of "real" bikers drinking beer out there, but they were always cool and dad felt better about leaving me there when other people were present as opposed to  being alone. I have never been harassed or felt threatened by anyone while fishing. Oddly enough, I've found the only people out there looking to violate somebody are some of the park rangers, law enforcement and sex offenders (Go figure!) 

All body's of water seem to exist in places un-effected by time. The sun goes up and down but time itself has no place there, only the seasons. The rat race of humanity is still furiously spinning all around it like a tornado. ( If you listen carefully you can still hear it) Every visit is a break from that vortex. I have aged but the waters always remain the same as in my memories. 

I am always thinking about, and sometimes talking to, lost loved ones when I'm out there. It's not uncommon for me to catch myself blurting out words of angst or looking to the skies for approval. I'm always thinking to myself, "I hope they got to see that!" after a nice fish is released. 

Sometimes the nights moon can be as bright as day. (only its in black and white) It can be so calm that I'll wonder if perhaps I'm dead and I just don't know it yet, destined to wander the earth until I uncover the truth of this life's existence. 

People whom know me find it hard to understand that I would even enjoy fishing. I've always been an ADHD type personality. Impatient, bored easily, controlling and cannot sit still. Everything they say is required to be a successful fisherman, I am not. But, I am also a Gemini/multitasker type person whom needs to occupy my right brain, to get any depth out of the left. Numbers or pounds have little to do with a "good" day, and there is no such thing as a bad day fishing. Each time I go, I have worked out a little bit more of my own personal "issues", enabling myself to perhaps someday finally grow up. 

Even when faced with bad weather, you still go anyway. You never can tell when a storm will break into an epic day unless you are out there. Either way, a rainy morning spent reading a book, listening to the rain tapping on the roof of the van as I fall asleep, is another "fisherman's" well kept secret. Remember, time has no effect in these places. You can get years back in a short nap.

I trip out when I think about these reservoirs after I die. They will still be here but all the stuff I've done or experienced there will be unknown to the person who "discovers" these places next. They might set their gear on the same rock I set mine or discover there's more going on under the water and feel like it is their discovery. I wish I could pass it all on to the next fisherman who needs the water to fill a void in their life. The names like "big John Cove", "the Bass Hole", "Old Mans", "Lizard Rock", "Shit Rock", "rock slide","the Pump House" they'll get new names for different reasons, never knowing about the people who grew up and even died at these places that were special to us. My friends and I have to carve something in the rocks to leave behind when we're gone.

When I think about the first time I visited each place, it's amazing how they have stayed relatively the same. When I took my first bike ride, on my sisters ten speed, I could hardly reach the pedals. I was in fifth grade with Gallager and Tony Belbenni we rode to Almaden Res. It was like we rode across the entire state to get there. 

Eric Duran showed me how to use a spinner bait at Uvas (there wasn't any cover then too) and the old house at Uvas was still old looking back then. Jumping off Coleman bridge for two summers before they put a stop to it. The rock behind Guad. And the safe we found brand new that's still at the bottom of the res today. Rubba's tree at Calero and we can't forget the brand new handicap bathroom we partied in all those nights. The Bowl, And Echo lake, ah the girls whom I secretly loved that lived in that neighborhood. Swimming with Levon Vanderlie in Uvas after high school. The date where Yvette and Sherri were covered in Guad mud. The Quail Inn at Chesbro. The hamburgers at the Calero Inn, they were the best.

All of these reservoirs are a part of me now. If I became an un-dead zombie, I'm sure I could be found at one of these places, stuck in the mud, not knowing why. 

I live today just for another trip. I still haven't gotten enough of these places.

You can believe that after I'm gone, if possible, I will still be out there. Doing what I do. All of these places are forever etched into my mind. I care immensely about these waters and their natural habitants. They've been my stomping grounds, my sitter, my teacher, comfort, my muse, my therapist, my escape. I have vowed to do what I can to keep these waters like I remember them. 

I cannot fathom the type of person I would be without these waters effect. As a matter of fact, I'm gonna go right now.