Читать книгу Dutch Clarke - The Early Years - Brian Ratty - Страница 11

The early morning sun lit up the eastern sky with a regal, brilliant red glow rising behind the mountains. As I opened my eyes to the second day on the trail, it took me a minute to remember where I was and what I was doing. The morning was starting clear and crisp with heavy dew covering my supply bags and bedding. Rolling over, I faced the pool of river water I’d crossed the day before. There, on the other shore about three feet into the water was a young doe. She looked to be not much more than a yearling. Her hide was a beautiful light brown with white patches on her forelegs. Her mouth and nose were a shiny jet black. Backlit in the early morning light, she’d take a sip and stop. Sip and stop. Each time she paused, she’d raise her head with ears straight up and sniff the air for any scent of trouble, turning her head right and left. After a few more drinks of water, she turned and effortlessly jumped 10 or 15 feet back into the underbrush and out of sight. What a beautiful scene to start the day. Then I reminded myself that this was just the kind of animal that I would have to hunt and kill if I were to survive in the wilderness. Wondering silently if I could kill such a noble animal, I shook off the thought and began my second day.

Crawling out of my sleeping bag, I moved to the edge of the river to brush my teeth and wash. As I knelt down, I looked out to see two, then three, fish breaking water in the center of the pool. Fish for breakfast, not a bad idea! I’d save my washing for later so as not to scare the fish. From one of the trail bags I removed my fly pole, reel and a wet fly. In a few moments I was back at the dark green pool. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Gus, now awake, watching my every move. Maybe he was hungry too.

I was in luck, a strike on the second cast. I hooked a fat 14 or15 inch sea run cutthroat trout that knew how to fight. Reeling in the first fish, my long bamboo pole bent down with its tip almost in the water. It was a good fight. In the next few minutes, two more fish, each weighing about two pounds, joined the first, lying on the rocks of the riverbank. Now to put my knives to the test, stowing my fishing gear, I set to the task of cleaning the fish. As I threw some of the guts into the water, I noticed small crawfish coming out from under rocks and devouring the innards. Crawfish... I hadn’t factored them in when I was planning my available food list. I wondered what other things haven’t I thought of? Damn. I was still full of doubts, and things like this didn’t put my mind at ease.

Overnight, the fire had burned down, so I stirred the coals, threw in bits of twigs and grass and the fire jumped to life. Warming my hands, I watched the white smoke rise into the air as the fire took hold. Nothing could be wasted on this trip, so I moved the tin pot of last night’s coffee closer to the fire.

During my training in New Mexico, I learned a few outdoor cooking methods. “Indian style” seemed like a good way to cook these fat delicacies. Near the water, I found three sticks about 3 feet long, which I sharpened. With the sharpened end first, I stuck it into the fat end of the cleaned trout and slid them the length of the fish. Then I placed the other ends of the sticks into the sandy ground around my campfire. Securing the kabobs with rocks, the skewers now held the fish in the hot air over the flames. After a few minutes, I turned the fish. What a wonderful aroma, cooking fish, coffee and burning wood. Soon I began eating my first fish right off the stick. As I ate, I saw Gus move to within six or seven feet of the fire, laying across some small rocks and watching my every move. When I finished with the first fish, eating all but the tail and bones, I threw the carcass towards Gus... he didn't move an inch. The same thing happened with the second fish... he wouldn’t move towards the remains on the rocks. About halfway through the third fish, I’d eaten enough. This time I threw the half-eaten fish directly at Gus's face and with one swipe of his powerful jaws, the fish tail, bones and meat were gone. A few minutes later both the remaining two tails and carcasses were also gone. This surprised me, for it was the first time that Gus had eaten in front of me or taken any food from me. A sign we were bonding? Maybe, but I couldn’t count on it. Within a half hour I’d washed my dishes, cleaned up my camp and packed my bedroll, including the still damp clothing from yesterday. All these items were loaded on my animals and we broke camp to move up the next trail. By this evening’s camp, I hoped to be on the other side of Thunder Mountain.