Triploidjunkie
Life of the Party
I was thinking about old fishing partners tonight, after a heartbreaking encounter last week. We probably all have fishing partners we miss, either from death or other factors. Mine was addiction.
I had a buddy from highschool that was always down to go fishing. He was a gear guy, but was learning fly fishing from me right before he went down the wrong path. I saw him the other day, having a spirited argument with a stop sign. He looked homeless, and at least thirty years older than me. He wouldn't have recognized me, no matter what. It's sad. I've known him since kindergarten. He was never the sharpest tool in the shed, but had wealthy parents, and every advantage to do something with himself.
After highschool we used to backpack into the high country and fish hidden gems most people would never see. Right before his downward spiral, I took him to Ell lake in it's heyday, and he landed some pigs on chironomids. He was hooked on fly fishing. A few weeks later we were hiked into the backcountry, fishing some Cascade alpine lakes and creeks when I caught him snorting an Oxycodone. He tried to get me to do one, but I stomped off downstream to catch some cutthroat. I found him a couple hours later passed out (probably OD) laying half in the creek. Lobster red, just like the scene from "The Movie". It looked like he just tipped over while fishing. We were ten miles in from the trailhead, and thirty from the nearest hospital. As I was assessing what to do, he came to. We were supposed to stay another night, but I hiked out, and he had to follow as he rode with me. I never fished or had contact with him again. He rapidly devolved into heroin, like most of them do. He's in jail more than out, and when you do see him, he's usually arguing with an inanimate object.
I've lost several fishing partners, some from cancer, some from reckless choices like drinking and driving, but this one always seems to sting worse. Especially when you see him stumbling around town like a zombie.
I had a buddy from highschool that was always down to go fishing. He was a gear guy, but was learning fly fishing from me right before he went down the wrong path. I saw him the other day, having a spirited argument with a stop sign. He looked homeless, and at least thirty years older than me. He wouldn't have recognized me, no matter what. It's sad. I've known him since kindergarten. He was never the sharpest tool in the shed, but had wealthy parents, and every advantage to do something with himself.
After highschool we used to backpack into the high country and fish hidden gems most people would never see. Right before his downward spiral, I took him to Ell lake in it's heyday, and he landed some pigs on chironomids. He was hooked on fly fishing. A few weeks later we were hiked into the backcountry, fishing some Cascade alpine lakes and creeks when I caught him snorting an Oxycodone. He tried to get me to do one, but I stomped off downstream to catch some cutthroat. I found him a couple hours later passed out (probably OD) laying half in the creek. Lobster red, just like the scene from "The Movie". It looked like he just tipped over while fishing. We were ten miles in from the trailhead, and thirty from the nearest hospital. As I was assessing what to do, he came to. We were supposed to stay another night, but I hiked out, and he had to follow as he rode with me. I never fished or had contact with him again. He rapidly devolved into heroin, like most of them do. He's in jail more than out, and when you do see him, he's usually arguing with an inanimate object.
I've lost several fishing partners, some from cancer, some from reckless choices like drinking and driving, but this one always seems to sting worse. Especially when you see him stumbling around town like a zombie.
