Fishing with Fat Jack #4

It was snowing lightly as we prepared to start back down the mountain to the coral. Fat Jack was standing there with fish tails sticking out of his jacket all over the place. There were tails in every pocket and hole. He must have had 30 fish stuffed in it.

I had just arrived back at the stable and was getting ready to dismount when I heard a loud “Wahoo” coming from behind me back up the trail. Loren decided to make a grand entrance and he, on his horse ominously named “Ricochet,” came screaming down the trail, around the trees and into the area just outside of the coral.

Loren was trying to get his horse to clear the fence, tugging on his reigns and really whooping it up when his saddle started slipping. Somehow his “cinch” had worked itself loose. Centrifugal force took over and he began sliding down and to the outside just like a bull rider. His horse wasn’t quite sure what was going on and I don’t know who was more scared, Ricochet or Loren.

Ricochet made the turn but Loren ran head first in to a 4 ft high snow bank. The collision tore Loren right out of the saddle and there was a huge spray of snow flying all over the place.

At first I was sure Loren was deeply and horribly injured. I launched myself out of the saddle and started running to see if I could help. He seemed truly dazed and disoriented. We got him to sit up and lean back on the snow pile and started to see if he could identify how many fingers we held up in front of him. It took a while but finally he said “three” and that was the right number.

I think it was Fat Jack who thought to look after Ricochet. John and I were focused on Loren. After a few minutes when it was evident that Loren was OK except for his pride, John nicknamed him “Crash” and we all had a good laugh.

The trip down the mountain was uneventful except for the bumping and bottoming out in the ruts, dips and cavernous troughs we had to drive through. We still had to hold our hands on the ceiling to ensure that no cranial damage was done to our bodies. Fat Jack did not know how to drive slowly. It was full throttle all the way.

It was dark when we arrived back in Hyattville and there was a greeting party waiting for us. They didn’t look too pleased either, except for Buford, Jacks dog. The first thing Fat Jack did when we got home was greet Buford and start tossing all those trout to him. He just chucked ‘em in the air and Buford caught them and swallowed them whole. Here we thought Fat Jack wanted them for dinner and what he really wanted them for was dog food.

One of the old guys who was waiting for us started yelling, “What in the Hell are you doing with my truck!” Fat Jack just grinned that same grin he gave us when he peaked around the corner when the door caved in on the old ladies having tea earlier that morning. We new there was going to be more interesting events coming.