Fishing with Fat Jack #3

Unbeknownst to us, Fat Jack had taken us to a horse camp high up in Wyoming’s Wind River Range. All the way up the mountain, Jack kept telling us we would get a opportunity to see his “little pink poodle.” It sounded so strange that we all dismissed it as just a little tale and really gave it no mind. Finally, the Suburban slid to a stop. Jack had slammed on the breaks and tried to see how long a skid mark he could leave. We piled out of the SUV as fast as we could. I think John even exited through the window! It had been a long ride slipping and sliding our way up the mountain. At times we had to brace ourselves with hand and arms against the roof to keep our butts anywhere near the seat. I think one or two of us even kissed the ground when we got out.

Jack had fetched 5 horses and we were in the process of saddling up when I asked if there was a bathroom around. I thought it would be nice to take care of business before we left. He pointed me to a trail and said the outhouse was only a few yards up the trail. “Oh, and by the way say hi to my “little pink poodle” he said. I thought “not that again.”

He was right. It was only 20 yards or so to the outhouse and I was desperate. I was really glad not to have to use a bush for cover. It wasn’t bad as outhouses go and I’ve used worse. It really beat just a hole in the ground. Also, outhouses don’t stink much when the outside temp is in the low 30’s. It’s just the cold seat that stings a little.

Here we are miles from anything civilized – a two-hour ride in a 4-wheel drive vehicle just to get here. I opened the door with the half moon cutout in it and there it was! The seat was padded with soft, light pink furry foam and on the seat cover was a Pink Poodle. It was very artfully painted on the lid once you opened it up. What a sight and what a joy to have soft furry foam instead of hard cold plastic.

Jack had us mount up on the horses once he had them saddled and off we went. We used the fifth horse as a pack horse and loaded all our fishing gear on a pack saddle. After a two hour ride we arrived at our destination, a small stream high up in the mountains.

It only took a few minutes in the icy air for us to get geared up to go fishing. Jack was really snickering under his breath at us getting all decked out in the “right” fishing attire. HE was wearing this old thread bear jacket that looked a little like it had seen it’s last life years ago. It had holes were the stuffing was peaking out, strings hanging at the cuffs and neck and it kind of smelled like, well, I’m not sure what it smelled like. It just sort of stank.

We had to break the ice on the stream in a lot of places to get room to fish. It was loaded with brook trout. Jack told us to just throw the fish up on the snow bank and he would come back later and pick them up. He said he wanted to take them home.

We fished for 4-5 hours and caught literally hundreds of 7-10 inch brook trout. The snow banks of the stream were littered with them.

Jack finally caught up with me and what a sight. He had fish tails sticking out of every hole and pocket in the jacket. They weren’t in bags or paper, he had just stuffed them in head first anywhere he could put them. It looked like he had added 100 pounds to his already ample 300 plus pounds.

He had followed behind us and kept the fish he wanted and tossed the others back in the stream. I was skeptical that we had not killed any fish until I saw him toss one back that had been on the bank for 15 or so minutes. It slowly just swam off. Amazing!

Jack challenged us to try “fishing naked” and I was sure that he was crazy. Then he explained that what he meant was to fish with a hook only. Sure enough it worked. A red hook worked better than a gold one and gold was better than bronze. But we caught fish on all three colors. Again, I was amazed.

It was time to head back to camp. We had an uneventful trip back but on arrival Loren earned a new nickname.