A Favorite Old Hat

If it were anyone else, an arrow through the middle of their head would’ve scared me right out of my socks, but with Papa Carpenter, the likely-hood that he was playing a prank was 99%. So, I weighed my response more heavily on his ornery smile than the supposed predicament atop, or rather through his head. Papa C never set out to scare, but rather to charm you into seeing the world from his eye’s. Nothing is so serious or important that you should forget to enjoy the time you are blessed with. Looking back now, I see how important his perspective was in my life. Although, I prefer to picture him in the hat with the Rainbow Trout through his head:) In a world that is detrimentally serious at the moment, I thought I’d share some stories and remember a man that did us all good. No apples needed doctor, I’ve got Papa.

Dad had left the truck already with my older brother. I hung back, thinking I’d see what kind of tricks Papa had up his sleeves. It turns out, for the most part, he really only had one fly fishing trick: The Joe Glodt Special. Joe Glodt was my great grandfather, and according to folk lore, one of the finest commercial fly tiers in Montana in his day. The Joe Glodt special is a mosquito pattern with a red tail, and it has some hidden features… I had to watch him fish, to understand how he could use one fly in almost all applications. If he was in a small rapid, he would let the fly tumble across the bottom by allowing the line a tiny bit of slack and every so often applying pressure to imitate a rise. If he was in a slower hole, or fishing below himself, he’d draw the line in slowly so that it would not sink, and it’s hackle would stand out of the water like wings flapping madly to free their owner from the shark (trout) infested water’s of the great Crooked river. And, in the case that he missed a fish, he’d yell “oh cripes!” It’s very important to let off steam using a gentle curse. As they say, any day fishing is better than a day working. No matter the application, he was granted fish. I say granted, because I firmly believe that Papa had some sort of deep connection with the Creator. Most likely, He was amused by Papa and his childlike mentality on life, and therefore gave him plenty:) I learned Papa’s method well. I took in each subtle move of the rod, and eyed the water he chose to fish, because I knew someday I’d need to baffle other fishing folk by catching fish where they could not. I can only assume that Papa watches from beyond with a smile and a wink. You can be sure that my children are also being trained on the art of tying the Joe Glodt Special.

Many of our stories begin with walking, as it is a key aspect of fly fishing. Something I had to get used to as a kid. With heavy, waist high waders meant for an adult, walking isn’t so easy. Falling into the river, on the other hand is quite simple. Walking after falling in the river, again, is difficult. Walking does bring you into a contemplative state of mind, however. A state of mind in which you can find great peace…

Walking slowly but steadily through the high desert, I sensed that this moment might be one of the most significant, and possibly the last one-on-one moment I’d get with Papa Carpenter. We stumbled across an old stone foundation, who’s footing had long since given way to the wandering winds of the desert. The sight of what was, but is no longer, must’ve sparked a memory as Papa recited some of his childhood memories. Roughly quoted… “You know, Branden, in the good old days we used buildings like what this must’ve been as potato cellars, and in the summer heat we’d sneak in to cool down.” he said as he wiped sweat from his face that was washed over with all that had come before. I replied softly and inquisitively “I bet you had to store a lot more food than we do these days.” My implied question quickly landed him on a new memory. “Well, during the war we had to save and spare a lot. We would save our fuel stamps, only driving when we absolutely had to, so that we could get enough gas to drive up to the lake for the weekend and go fishing.” “Woah…” I responded in wonder. “I can’t imagine not being able to just drive wherever you want if you have the money.” “Yeah, a lot of things were different back then…” he trailed off, and my mind was spinning imagining all the different things he must’ve seen. I can now see that many of us have such a gift right in front of us as young people, our Elders have seen and can teach us so much. If I could go back to that moment, I would ask him “Papa, what advice would you give me, knowing all that you know, and having seen so many good years on this planet?” I imagine, he would answer like this… “Oh, I don’t know… go to church every Sunday, you need that. Make sure you do the right thing as much as you can, you’ll make mistakes of course. Don’t take yourself too seriously. Go fishing a lot, and bring your kids.” My throat tightens as though I’m on the verge of tears thinking of how I missed that opportunity to hear what he’d really say.

BANG!!! (this is a small to medium sized bang, I know it’s hard to read the nuance) went the small firecracker, near enough to startle me, but pretty far off in the bushes actually. We loved spending the 4th of July at Papa’s. This was around the time the cousins would all visit from afar, so it was a blast for us kids. We would ride in Papa’s furniture truck in the local parade, waving flags and tossing candy. Our town was well under 7,000 people in population, and they all knew Papa. Maybe because the men leading my family seemed so steadfast and like pillars in the community, I often measured myself against my Dad, and uncle’s and Papa. I wonder about the sacrifices they have all made to uphold a family, and the great joy they must feel knowing what a precious thing they have to protect. It’s amazing to think that while Nanny and Papa were taking such great care of their family, they were also delivering meals to the elderly, visiting friends that didn’t have family, giving to the church and to the poor, and growing a mean Garden. I hope and strive to measure up to them, for sure. When it comes to his pranks however, I’m just not there yet. Although the days of tossing firecrackers in the vicinity of your grandchildren are long gone, I did need to attempt this delicate trade myself. Just once. One time is all you need, to establish that it is a bad idea. My brother and his then girlfriend were sitting on the beach enjoying a nice evening. Enjoying it a little too much in my not fully formed teenage brain. So, I proceeded with my own version of Papa’s little trick by lighting a bottle rocket, aiming it just above their heads and well, let’s just say I’ll never try something like that again. Bottle rockets are really hard to aim. There’s a reason fireworks are illegal in many states, and it’s not just forest fires.

Speaking of forest fires. Dad recalls a time when he and Papa headed out to one of our favorite lakes to fish for trout, which seemed to be on an annual burn schedule. You often had to decide if the catch was worth inhaling incinerated Ponderosa pine all day. The answer was always yes. On this occasion, they had loaded Papa’s 12-foot aluminum boat with oars to accommodate the restrictions placed on these pristine waters. Papa and his boat seemed to be woven of the same cloth, in that they never really seemed to show the signs age, and it was hard to tell if they were in-fact old, or not. Once the cold metal of the boat touched the water, an unspoken timer began, and you only had moments to get a fly on the water before you would be considered unenthusiastic. For this reason, the fisherman in-charge of oaring would lean their rod on the edge of the motor mount and run their line out the back of the boat. This method of trolling with a fly is often extraordinarily successful, because the motion of oaring brings life to your flies. I think you can see where this is going… Papa’s fly attracted the biggest fish around, and that 5-pound trout (it was a 4lb trout when I heard the story, so I can only assume the actual weight prior to this becoming a fish story was 3lbs) pulled his entire rod into the lake before he could react. Losing a big fish is one thing, but watching it skip your fly rod around the lake like a forlorn water ski is an entirely new kind of pain/comedy. Luckily, when the trophy trout shook the fly loose, the floating line on his rod gave away the location of his submerged fish wrangling device. Much of his life was filled with stories that were too big, too far, too impossible but it was all real and magical. And, if we take on that light-hearted nature, we can start to see the magic in our own lives.

There’s fish out there. let’s go catch ‘em and don’t forget to BTK (bring the kids)