Harold and the Moose

Harold and the Moose

Have you ever known someone that literally saps the life from your very self, even at the mere mention of their name? If you’re like me, then you have at least one. Some of us even have the privilege of knowing several of these wonderful people. Its not that these souls are evil or anything of the kind, it just seems like their spirit may have come straight from the Lord himself; especially designed to be our very own personal torment for some wrong we have committed.They come in all shapes and sizes and neither sex takes dominance over the other. Some are so smart they are dumb. Some have no sense of humour. There are others that are just plain arrogant. They will sometimes ask for your advice and then pay no mind whatsoever to what you say; some even ask and then turn away from you while you answer. They have been known to cause recurring nightmares. Others do not have to do anything; it may be that just the sight of the person makes you get the Willie Nillies. These are only but a few of the ways they irritate us.The worst thing about all this is that in most cases they do not even realize that they are causing you these discomforts.One of mine was a fellow by the name of Harold K. Abernathy (not his real name). During the years when I was an Atlantic salmon fishing guide on the Main Southwest Miramichi River was when I knew Harold.(In Carleton County, we have a special way of talking. It is my hope to try and emulate that form of speech as I write the rest of this story.)Now fer those a you folks that ain’t got a clue as to what a salmon guide’s day looks like, I’ m gonna try an enlighten ya. From the first a Ju-leye to the mid a September, that there is usually the length of the season. Now my Father, he was an outfitter, which meant he was one a them fellers what brings folks from away, mostly the States, to try their hand at ketchin a salmon. I’ve heard some folks say that a salmon guide, why, he’s gotter made, out on the river all the time, in the fresh air. An gittin paid ta do er ta boot. Well….them that go on with that there bunk…they ain’t never done er…an that’s a fact. Cause if they had….they’d know…she ain’t no picnic…an that there’s fer sure. But….I guess that there sayin bout how the grass is always greener on the other side…is likely more true than not.A body gits up an on the river at about 4:30 in the am. Let me tell ya, them there midgets, some calls em no see ums…is some kinda hot bout that time. So ya soak yer self in fly dope…and its off ya go. Now that there fly dope stuff….I don’t know if it helps any with them there little demons….but at least it makes a body feel better. Ya stay down fishin till bout 10:00 am and then ya make yer way back fer breakfast.Now Father being the type a feller he is…he’d ask ya in a way that only he could if ya wouldn’t mind taken yer fellers back down fishin a bit more through the heat of the day….now every one knows….ya ain’t apt ta have no luck a fishin through the heat of the day…unless it’s a rainin er at least a dark day…but…ya’d end up goin agin right after breakfast. Didn’t happen every day….but more days than not. So it was back down the river with you and yer feller, we called em sports, tillbout 3:00pm er so when it was time ta go back fer supper at 4:00pm. An as quick as ya got done eattin, it was back down the river agin till dark.Now through the heat of the day….why they was every kind a fly they was a goin…cept fer midgets…twern’t their time. They was always an ample supply a black flies, horse er moose flies, mosquitoes, dog flies, and deer flies. All a bombardin ya at the same time.So ya would end up a gittin back ta camp somewhere bout 10 er 10:30pm. At that there point….she’d bin a long day. But….ya had ta be sociable, so if yer feller asked ya ta come have a toddy with imm…ya couldn’t very well turn imm down. Some though weren’t the sociable type….an ya know…I never minded when they wasn’t.But when they was…well…a body would do well if he made er ta the sack by midnight. By then ya didn’t have no trouble fallin ta sleep when yer head hit the feathers. Then ya’d git a chance to doer all over again real soon, the next morning.Them there fellers…they’d only have ta do it fer a week….you had ta doer all season. Oh a body would git Saturday afternoon and night off…with a chance ta sleep in Sunday morning. But…by the time ya got yer self around…they’d be a brand new crew a fellers in right full a git up an go. So after supper on Sunday at 4:00pm she’d start all over agin.That there is kinda what she’s like…cept…I never did tell ya bout the bunk a body would have ta go through. Aw…some was better an others…heck…some was even down right good bout the whole affair. But…they was this one feller…an he’d always come back every year….an he would always ask fer me ta guide imm….his name was Harold…an he was from Massachusetts.I don’t suppose Harold ever listened ta one thing I ever said to imm. He’d ask…but turn right away from me when I would answer. He had zero sense a humour, why…I’d venture ta guess if he ever did smile…his face would crack. He was a small little feller….and let me tell ya he had him that there little feller syndrome in a big way. He’d see him a fish jump er roll an he would almost run if he was waddin ta git ta where that fish was. Then he’d flail the water as if he was some sorta wild man. I tried ta tell him other wise…but…I soon learnt…I’d a done jus as good if I was talk ta the wind…an maybe better. Harold kinda put me in mind of a fly that got hisself caught between the screen an window.Some times one of his friends would be a fishin the same pool with one a Dad’s other guides. An if a fish jumped in front a his friend…well…old Harold would go a splish splashin right down and horn in on that other fellers spot. I tell ya….the man had no scruples whatsoever. The week I had ta guide old Harold was always a week a pure misery. An the cussed rig would cause me ta have night mares even when he weren’t there.Come this time we had us a big rain; the river was up high on account of it too.Anyway, I was guidin old Harold; an we was at the forks pool. He could wade there, an I knew the fish would be a movin on that there high water so I figured it was as good a place ta be as any.Now ya git used ta knowin and ya can tell…old Harold…he had him a barrel a money. Why he had the very best of every kinda equipment they was a goin. His camera was always a danglin from his neck and it was a good one too.Harold, never did much talkin, an that sorta suited me jus fine. Me…I was settin in the canoe chair up next ta the bushes. All ta once I could hear what sounded like a couple a fellers a waddin down river from up above. Now I tought…who in the world would be a waddin down that there river with the water as high as it was? I knew it was deep up there so it didn’t make no sense. See…the river makes so many turns id almos comes back ta meet itself, so I couldn’t see who was a comin. But comin they was, an they was a gittin closer.Well sir…all ta once, out from behind the bushes…there in the river stood a good big bull moose. Had him a real nice rack a horns too. They was all in velvet an the water was drippin from em. Sure was a pretty sight.I kinda chuckled ta myself…when I realized it was a moose I had heard a waddin an not a couple a fellers.Like I said, I knew old Harold had him a real good camera, an bein this close to a moose, especially a big bull in velvet wasn’t an every day occurrence. So I kinda blew air through my lips ta git Harold’s attention. After about the fifth time…he caught on, er at least he heard me. When he looked at me, I pointed ta the moose.Now I figured Harold would turn and look and real slow like take some good pictures. But….No….What’d Harold do? He tucked his rod up under his arm pit an took off a runnin right at that there moose as fast as he could. They was water a splashin like some sorta paddle boat would make an he was a clicking off pictures all at the same time.I looked at the moose an he kinda reared backwards an the hair come up on his shoulders….that there ain’t what ya call a good sign. I swear….I don’t know who was more surprised, me, er the moose. I thought I better do something so I yelled.“Harold! Stop! What are ya tryin ta do, git yer self kilt?!? Stop and don’t you move!”Now surprisingly, Harold did stop. An as that there moose turned back up river after a lookin at Harold like a dog hearin a funny noise, I was glad that there critter turned an went back ta where he’d came from. I went at old Harold agin.I said “Harold I’m sorry I yelled at ya…but…lord thunderin…ya don’t go a scarin a critter like that…man he could a give ya one heck of a woolin if he was a mind too.”Harold jus looked at me an with absolutely no emotion said “I wanted pictures…he would not have harmed me…I believe I did get some…I hope so.”I couldn’t help wonderin if the moose had bin told not ta git mad and go all hay wire…an if so…who was it that told imm.I said “Harold…if that there moose was mind to…he’d a tramped you silly! An if that didn’t kill ya…well… by the time I’d a got to ya..you’d a bin drownded. If we see any more critters…you jus relax an don’t git so all fired up…they’ll be time ta git lots a pictures…anyway…no picture is worth gittin kilt over.”Well….I could tell old Harold was kinda put out with me, cause he sooked the rest a that there day. The way I seen it…he was a lucky man.It was always jus one thing right after another with that there feller, an this here was jus one time.Yes sir…them there salmon guides…they sure gotter made!

Monday, July 19, 2010

RL Tex Smith