Wednesday, August 8, 2007

High noon..... or a little past five.

Some people are destined for conflict. They could avoid it, but that never happens does it? Tim was agitated and nervous as observer while we fished. Pat and I were not up to speed on this the first day of fish derby, it was still just a regular fishing expedition on a new river for us. Complete with the corny jokes and quips we threw at each other as we have at various times for the last 25 years. Except for Tim who made it clear that he was going to wipe us and the rest of the competition out with his super fishing mojo.

He had tied probably 40 flies just for this river and his ego had him convinced he hadn't missed a single one that would bring the fish in. Pat fished hard and well(he has taught me the little I have managed to retain about this art called fly fishing), but toward the end of the day Tim had no problem saying as Pat worked a little overhang of brush.... "There are 40 fish in there!! You just aren't seeing them man, tomorrow I'll pull them all out there!"

Shortly thereafter we released him from his hell as observer and he sped off back to town fully amped for the following day when his abilities would blow us all away.
Well, as can be expected in these situs, the fish abandoned their posts wherever Tim fished the next 2 days and his numbers were in the dismal to poor range. Resulting in quicker post ups in the saloon and a darker countenance by days end.

Why he stopped fishing in the early afternoon of the last day is now (lo these many days later) lost in the fog of trout-war. Maybe a tributary was trespassed upon or the dreaded 2 fish mortality rule was invoked and he was red carded like Thierry at the World Cup? Who really knows? But following some angry words with the derby director, the saloon had it's early bird perched on a stool and in a foul state of mind well before his usual time.

LD the director was putting on a feed for the end of the evening.He and his 3 boys were bringing in food through the back of the restaurant, blocking the doorway sat a jeep. Now this is a small town as you may have guessed already, everyone knows who drives what and probably where they drive most of the time.

So off went the 3 lads to find the owner of the jeep and get it moved out of the way so they could unload the food and prepare it for the dinner. Nobody at the restaurant claimed the vehicle, next door at the general store the same luck so off to the saloon they went. Repeated requests of ownership were met with shrugs but no keys were jingled.

Nothing to do but work around the obstacle and so they went to the task at hand. A couple of hours later right around 5p.m., as they sat outside smoking here came Tim from the saloon and right toward the jeep. What followed was right out of the wild wild west of old.

The oldest of the brothers asked or stated, depending on your hearing "Hey! You drive that fucking jeep!?" Tim's response was something along the lines of "You fucked me on the derby so fuck you!"
Things got worse from there as the conversation got even more heated, I'll spare you reading the other f-bombs.......

But at some point Tim's good sense overtook his temper and he backed away from an obviously losing proposition of taking these 3 on (he would have a hard time justifying taking on 1 of them truth be told!) but not being content with small victories he flashed a gun as he settled in the jeep. Aaah this was just the red flag the bulls needed. The oldest brother, a man in his early 40's is back from a 3rd tour in the Mess In Potamia and is a sniper by trade. Used to the violence of a real war, he seemed to know the empty threat he was staring down.

He more than once invited Tim to get out and take a shot, an offer Tim now ever more unsure of his actions wisely ignored. The others were just as vocal in their wish for Tim to leave the car. Finally realizing that his only way of winning this battle was to put the vehicle into reverse and to leave town as quickly as possible, he did just that. A cloud of dust curling under the tires and a chorus of jeers tailed his departure for the safety of home.

Shaking their heads and pulling out new smokes the 3 settled back onto the bench, muttering of ass kickings.........


Anonymous said...

That's a good little tale, well told!

David J. Hirsh said...

Fun blog...I'm glad I found it. Thanks for the PNW flavor. I'm not much of an angler: I prefer the salt. But I love mixing up the surfing and fishing on the ocean. Did well in both off the Cape in July! Cheers.

Anonymous said...

this is the wild west! great story, gaz.