Lubbock Boys Go Fishing---Part One

   

    

The Homestead Cabin at Freemon Ranch--built in 1874 to "proof up" the claim for timber and minerals.

     Wake up, don’t just lay there like cold granite stone------Merle Haggard filled Wayne’s big Ford pickup with sad country music as we headed west across the Llano Estacado—the land of our youth.  It was good to be back—back on the road and back on the high plains. We didn’t call it by a fancy Spanish name when we grew up out there.  It was just the high plains of the panhandle of Texas, and we had no idea how that country would mark us for life.

     James Collins called before we got to Big Spring, to tell us not to go to Pagosa Springs as planned, but drive instead sixteen miles past Creede to a place called Freemon Ranch.  He said the water at Bruce Spruce Ranch was muddy and fishing would be no good and we’d have better luck on the Rio Grande near Creede. 

     I was silently happy that I didn’t have to tell anyone we fished at Bruce Spruce Ranch—it sounds vaguely effeminate and is hard for an old man to pronounce.  I was also anxious to see the headwaters and the source of the Rio Grande because that was the northwestern border of Texas from 1835 until 1846.  Wayne adjusted his fancy GPS and kept his foot in the carburetor.

     James and Neil McMullen had invited Wayne Ratisseau, Roy Turner and me to join them on a fishing trip.  They made an offer we could not refuse.  I did not get the fishing gene, but I went along to keep the coffee pot warm, do a little cooking, and make sure all the lies got told.  Not much I’d rather do, and no one I’d rather do it with.  All these guys had been my friends since our sophomore year at Lubbock High School—sixty-two years, if anyone is counting.

A typical sunset on the high plains, where we grew up.  Because this is a daily occurrence, sometimes we forget.  Thanks to my friend Rick Palmer of Amarillo for reminding me.

     Wayne and I made it to Las Vegas, New Mexico, before dark, and the next day, we got to Freemon Ranch before two o’clock in the afternoon.  The lady there showed us our cabin and said that James and Neil were out fishing.  The air was clear, the valley was green, and the high mountain setting was magnificent. 

     The Freemon Ranch consists of a cluster of log cabins built in the early 1900s, with a trout stream running through.  According to the marker, one cabin, the “homestead cabin,” was built in 1874.  It had a sod roof but was past occupation, only used as a prop now days.  Our cabin was cozy, with indoor plumbing and a kitchen.  We unloaded the pickup and Wayne, a consummate fisherman, could not wait to gird his loins and do battle with the wily trout.

     As a novice, I just do not understand the serious nature of this undertaking.  Wayne was dressed, appropriately I thought, in shorts and tee shirt.  He sat on our cabin’s front porch and removed his shoes and pulled on a pair of heavy woolen socks.  He smoothed the socks over his ankles, and slid one leg into what appeared to be rubberized khaki-colored overalls, with black rubber feet attached, not unlike kiddie’s jamas.  It was a struggle.  He got one leg in and sat there hyperventilating before he attempted the other leg.  

     The air in the Colorado Rockies leaves something to be desired.  Oh, there’s plenty of it, but like a lot of things when you get outside Texas, it is just not real satisfying.  You can breathe up several gallons of it and still feel deprived.  Texas air, on the other hand, is something you can get your teeth into.  A couple of good deep breaths and you’re ready to take on the world.  In the high country of Colorado, it takes a whole vacant lot-full just to get on a pair of overalls.

     Wayne struggled into the left leg of his fishing suit and, leaving the trousers around his knees, began the ordeal of putting on his waterproof, lace-up fishing boots.  Several minutes and quite a lot of gasping later, he was completely dressed—up to the knees.  He rested awhile.

     Ratisseau stood and pulled the khaki rubber overalls up to his waist and sat back down to rest.  After a few minutes, he stood up and batted around behind himself, trying to locate the straps to his rubber long-handles.  I helped him as much as I could—as I said, I’m a novice.  Besides, I haven’t worn overalls since George R. Bean Elementary School.

Wayne, with his loins all girded, explaining why he cannot reveal the secret knot.  Those of you who know Wayne will understand that no one has a camera with a shutter speed fast enough to catch him with his mouth closed.

     With my help, Wayne had little trouble finishing.  He pulled on a fishing vest and an old hat.  Now it was time to rig up his fly rod and pick the perfect fly, one that was irresistible to even the Albert Einstein trout.  He chose a black ant-looking thing and tied it in place with a knot that only fly fishermen can know.  As he tied the knot, he turned his back so I could not watch.

      Fly fishermen teach the knot to their sons in a coming-of-age ceremony.  With the knot secure, he added just the proper amount of leader so the fish would not see the line and would believe that clump of horsehair was a real live black ant.  Many years ago, Wayne built that fly rod and tied many of his own flies.  His dad taught him, after he showed him that secret knot.

      As Wayne went down to the stream that flowed through the ranch to prove he was physically and intellectually superior to a 10-inch speckled fish with a half BB-sized brain, I found a shady place with a porch swing to breathe the mountain air, drink in the scenery, read about Sam Houston, and wonder about the water in that creek.  How long did it take that particular water to make it to Del Rio, on its way to the gulf?

Here, fishy, fishy, fishy-----This creek feeds the Rio Grande, which...well you know what the Rio Grande does.

      James and Neil came in a couple of hours later, carrying a creel full of fish.  They most always catch-and-release, but when Roy comes Monday, we’re gonna have a fish fry. 

    This, of course, will be continued…..