Where it all began (1990 something)

I wake up to my dad shaking my shoulder. It’s still dark out, but I get up immediately in childish anticipation. I know that we are going fishing. I am about 5 or 6 years old and we are at our family cabin, my favorite place on earth. Rambler’s Roost is its name. Built by my great grandfather in 1933, our family has been enjoying it generation after generation. The roost is located just 30 yards from the Upper Rogue River near Shady Cove. It’s a simple cabin with few amenities, but that just adds to its character. Shoot, there is no running water and we have to go get it out of the Rogue in pales that are older than I am. Oh and the outhouse’s light doesn’t always work and the seat is always cold. No complaints here though.

We get dressed, and man, we are lookin’ gooo-oood. I’ve got my big red puffy coat with black and white racing stripes down the arms, and my Osh-Kosh overalls to boot. My Power Ranger shoes that light up with each step are hanging on for dear life by a pair of Velcro straps. Dad has on his denim suit and a pair of white Chuck Taylor’s that he got in the late 70’s. (You’re probably thinking gross! But, he has kept really good care of them and hardly ever wears them.) He still has those classic Chuck T’s and I want them. I’ve tried convincing him to give them to me, failing each time. I don’t know what it is about them but they’re just way cool, and he knows it as much as I do. I digress. I take the spin rod and my dad grabs the tackle box. The rod is a fifteen-dollar Wal-Mart special. I still have it to this day and have never had any issues with it. Don’t get me wrong. I am a fly fisherman now, but I didn’t exactly start out that way. Nonetheless I was a trout bum in the making. With a fresh can of fireballs in the tackle box we head out.

The trail goes along the Rogue and it is absolutely beautiful. Even as a young child I remember appreciating how pretty it was and still is. It takes us about ten minutes to get to our sacred spot where I still pretend that I am the only one that really knows about it. When we get there it is fish on! We end up catching our limit of hatchery rainbows and I couldn’t be happier. On the way back I secretly hope that we run into a bunch of people so they can see all the fish that we caught.

I’ll never forget this one particular outing. It’s what triggered the fishing addiction that I can’t suppress. I am not looking to suppress it, only enhance it with more and more adventures. And so it begins. The chronicles of a trout bum…