Drive - A Memoir 88th Installment
conversation
bandied about while we started a camp fire.
“There
is no fish in that dinky puddle anyway,” Don complained.
“Who
wanted a stupid fish anyhow,” muttered Neil.
“I
hate fish – well I hate their bones,” I added. So we ate the
squished Peanut Butter & Jelly sandwiches we had carried in and
we decided each of would save one small item for later.
In
the morning we started up to the head of West Camas after four or
five hours of quiet steep and four or five hours fitful tossing and
turning. After a long slipping and sliding ascent, we reached the
high mountain meadow on the top of the Continental Divide. We were
higher than we’d ever been at 8,391 feet elevation. The Divide is
located between Idaho and Montana and is essentially the top of the
continent where, on the one side, the spring water feeding the Camas
Creek runs west down into Idaho, joins up with the Snake River, then
the Columbia River, and finally empties into the Pacific Ocean. The
spring water, a few hundred feet east of the Divide, runs toward
Montana and into the Missouri River, the Mississippi River, and
eventually into the Gulf of Mexico and the Atlantic Ocean.
We
had eaten peanut butter & jelly sandwiches and were ravenous for
some real food that would stick to our ribs. Water was no problem
because we could lie down and put our faces into the cold mountain
creeks we crossed, plus we carried a little Boy Scout canteen. It was
the lack of food that was gnawing a hole in our stomachs. We decided
we’d have to try to catch fish again or starve. We’d lost our
fish hooks and line at the little lake – or what we now called
‘that stupid mud hole,’ and all we had left was the empty reel,
and throwing a reel at the water wouldn’t kill a fish. We thought
the Idaho side looked more promising than the Montana side. The
creek’s springs were in the meadow, and the water meandered here
and there, then rushed down the mountain. As we walked along the
springs, we devised a plan. We found a narrow spot in the creek and
after gathering enough rocks; we built a rock wall across the creek,
careful to not leave large holes among the rocks. Then we ran to the
far end of the creek and thrashed through the water in order to spook
the fish in front of us – we hoped. When we got near the pool
formed by the little rock dam we quickly built another rock wall dam
a few feet away. Then the water–rodeo–war against the fish
started, with four little boys thrashing and grabbing, water flying
everywhere. We were soon totally soaked, but each of us had caught or
pawed out onto the bank a fish for our dinner.
A
couple hours before dark we left all our fish guts
500 more words tomorrow
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