I will: "Endeavor To Persevere" to not cry. I will fail. I'm "A Crier." Thanks, Gramps. Gramps was "A Crier," too. Genetics being thicker than Cola Cola and twice as sweet, all that. I will also "Try not to forget to bring a rock in my pocket to leave atop his Headstone." Probably one of the ones that I picked up on a Klamath River "Fishing Trip." In "quotes" because, there were NO FISH IN THAT RIVER, save the one pathetic Trout Fry I landed and turned into "food" for other fish. It's pretty hard to get a Salmon Hook out of a Trout Fry, without completely mutilating the Little Guy or Gal. Bummer. I put my River Rig back in the truck and went looking for Bear Scat. It was more interesting than: "Fishing w/o fish." One of the reasons they call it: "Fishing" instead of: "Catching" by the way.
I knew better than to try and fish that river with its' Pearloid (That "Mother Of Toilet Seat" stuff they cover Drum Sets with) Carpet Of Algae all over the top of the riffles, like Snot Frosting on a Dog Shit Cake. I had to keep reminding: "I'm not from Northern California, Mike," that his dog, Gracie, should NOT be in that water. There were signs posted, even. All I needed was a quick glance at the Green Shit in the water. GREEN SHIT does not belong in Any River. Unless it's Saint Patrick's Day in Chicago. I'm not even sure that's such a good idea, either. I bet that not even those Asian Carp that Jack In The Box out of Rivers in The Midwest like it. Chalk it all up to some Kafka-esque Dumb-Shittery and move on...
I DID take a big swig out of a beer with a Yellow Jacket in the can. It had drowned, already, Thank God. That was the big excitement for the whole trip, besides watching Mister Know It All getting his "Heavy Duty 4X4 Ford" stuck in river bar gravel up to the axles, for which, I got to go to The Country Store in Somes Bar, hitchhiking in the middle of Redneck Central, to call a Tow Truck. Next time, have a Come-Along in the truck, Hanley. Or, know that: "Let The Air Out Of The Tires" trick. Either would have worked. He wanted a Tow Truck, so, he got one. $200.00 and two hours, waiting at The Somes Bar General Store, for me. I sat outside The Store and drank good, ice cold beer, (I rarely drink beer "ice cold." Another of my Grandfather's Habits popping up.) while waiting for him to be jerked out of the mess he'd got himself in. Found a Dental Bridge some Drunk had left on a Picnic Table at The Store and took it into the clerk, in a napkin, so they might find their way back to the person that forgot 'em. Lotta' Drunks around The Country Store that day, for some reason. They may "always be there," I don't know. Haven't been back there, since.
Final Score: Yellow Jackets, Truck Axles, Trout Fry, Beers At Store, Dentures: 1 apiece. Fish: 0. Unless you want to count the Fry as an: "Actual Fish." I don't. If it doesn't put up a fight and look good in a Creek-side Frying Pan, It's: "Something Else." A Worm-With-Fins kinda' thing.
Yellow Jackets. I HATE YELLOW JACKETS! Cannibalistic/Carnivorous Little Bastards. I was about 16 years old when my Childhood Friend, Larry, his Dad and I went hiking up to Sawtooth Ridge/Peak, above Visalia, California. Larry and I packed up a hill with a sandwich or four, more to smoke a joint away from Baptist Dad than eat the sandwiches, when I noticed that there were: "things crawling up my legs and beginning to sting me." Then, THE WORLD EXPLODED INTO PSYCHEDELIC, PSYCHOTIC, YELLOW JACKETS! They were: "EVERYWHERE" it seemed. Trying to sting my face, up under my very long hair, in my shirt, trying to get at my NUTS, in my nose, ears and asshole...You get the picture. 100+ stings. Apparently, I had, unwittingly, stepped on a Ground Hive where Those Little Fuckers like to live in the Sierra's. Cannibals Be Damned. I've never met anyone that had anything "good" to say about Cannibals. Wasn't around for the Love Fest @ Donner Summit so...
I still haven't evened the score. I figure the Body Count to be around 50 or so, presently. Every Single Time one of them gets near me, I: "Know That Tune." The hair on the back of my neck stands up and I am "On Point" for a Location and Kill. I've learned to "roll them out of my cupped hand" and onto the ground, in one seamless motion. It knocks them out and then, THE BOOT GRIND. "51. It's a good start/middle/end to the hike." My Mountain Climbing Days are over. My Yellow Jacket Days are still inching along to their Ultimate Goal. 110 and "done." 10 more, just because sitting in a creek, picking Yellow Jackets off your dick, BLOWS DEAD BEARS. The Kindly Forest Service Ranger is handing you a Primatine Inhaler and using a Work Gloved hand to assist you in removal of said Nasties, after having cut your Bell Bottomed, 1970's Corduroy's off with a Buck Knife. This "fun procedure" also comes with an overnight plus two day ration of Calamine Lotion and some Benedryl, in case you're wondering. The best part was: "Being high while getting stung that many times." It may have "helped" or made it worse, I don't remember. I don't WANT TO remember. The next day, I was "Fine," except that I looked like a cross between a Warthog and a Rotting Pinata and my Butt Itched under my Pack's Waistband. We summited Sawtooth Peak, elevation 12k+', the next morning. Those bugs weren't fucking up MY hike. The next day, I looked vaguely Human again.
Today is a Tom Waits kind of day. I've been listening to him since I woke up and still have hours of material to swim through. "Swordfish Trombone" is on right now. Good shit, Maynard.
Anecdote Time: My "Wife" (quotes because, although "I felt married," she didn't.) married a guy named Maynard Krebs (whether or not his middle initial was "G.", I don't know) after my nuts grew back. Fucking Bob Denver's Character's Honorary Namesake from The Dobie Gillis Show. I almost laughed out my False Teeth when she informed me of her Ex's name. Poor Guy. His Nuts May Or May Not Have: "Grown Back." Never met the guy. Another "Drive-By Marriage" Gone South With Geese. At the very least, his Parents must have had a sense of humor. I just got a Regular Type Name. Gypped again...
Tom Waits. Perfect Muse for a yarn like this. Thanks, Pal.
Peace, Love and Insect Repellent,
-Doc
Just f'er "Kicks":
"...almost laughed out my False Teeth..."
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