'Possum Creek Homecoming

I met Mac (short for MacTavish) under the ‘Possum Creek Bridge just as I was heading downstream for an evening of fly-fishing. For the first three hours I didn’t even know his name. He appeared to be a mixture of Border Collie and Lab but I couldn’t be sure.  The only thing I was sure of was the fact that the he really liked me and was not about to leave my side.

Dogs and fly-fishing don’t exactly go together but it was kind of neat to have an instant pal on my first trip back to ‘Possum Creek after being gone from Alberta for 19 years. Okay, ‘Possum Creek is not on any map.  It’s my code name for the creek. If I told you its real name I’d have to kill you.

I walked the creek for about a half mile downstream before turning to face the current and fish my way back to the bridge.  It was at this juncture that I realized that my K-9 pal was going to be a problem.  He went absolutely crazy when I put the fly line in the air and would jump off the bank trying to grab it as it sailed by him.  He sounded like a cannon ball hitting the water behind me and it scared me out of my wits the first time it happened.  For the next two hours I concentrated on my forecast and screamed at the top of my lungs on my back casts, threatening the dog if he jumped for the line.  All in all it was a disconcerting experience and anything but productive as far as the secretive brown trout were concerned.  The dog and I must have sounded like a small war coming up the creek.  In spite of the problem I did manage to catch a couple of unsuspecting Rocky Mountain Whitefish. Obviously, they aren’t wound as tightly as brown trout.

Finally I reached water too deep to wade so I headed for the right hand bank, which was extremely steep.  I laid my rod on the bank, grabbed a couple of handfuls of roots and started pulling myself out of the water on all fours.  I was about half way up the bank when I noticed that the dog was facing straight away 10 feet in front of me and standing on full point.  I thought that was curious since he had not taken his eyes off me since we met.  Stretching to the side I saw what had the dog’s attention – a very large – very irritated skunk, which was doing his tail-high dance that typically means somebody is about to get sprayed.

Several things raced through my mind at that point: 1) How could I have chosen such an ill-fated spot to crawl up the creek bank? 2) How was I going to convince the skunk that I was not the enemy? 3) Would in be better to fall over backwards into the creek and drown or try to wait out the skunk?

The answer came quickly when the skunk charged the dog, and the dog, being my best friend, ran back to me for moral support.  The skunk called off the charge at about five feet and returned to his burrow and disappeared into the bank. It was a very close call and since I was already on my knees I thanked God for not letting the skunk stink up my first trip back to my favorite creek.

Eventually I arrived back at the bridge where the adventure began. Upstream 100 yards or so there was the old bridge that crossed the creek before they put in the new road.  I decided to walk up to the old bridge and take a picture of the gorgeous sunset on the water.  As I stood in the middle of the bridge I noticed a man walking toward me.  He was the dog’s owner and had been wondering where his mutt had gone.  I explained that the dog (whose name turned out to be Mac) had joined me for an evening of fly-fishing.  The man’s name was Jerry and he owned the property on the east side of the creek. He was a cordial sort and asked me if I’d like to join him for a glass of Merlot by the little fire he had going a hundred yards further up the creek bank.  I spent an hour with Jerry and Mac, there by the fire in the glorious afterglow of a sunset on ‘Possum Creek.  As is so often the case, a simple endeavor had taken some curious turns, but that’s what life is all about.  Heck, a fly-fishing trip with no line-grabbing dog, no near miss with a skunk and no Merlot would hardly be worth mentioning.

Comments

[John Staubitz]

Nice Russ...I'm sure it feels like "goin home" after all those years in Alabama.
Be blessed(although I know you are)
Your friend,
John Staubitz

[john blank]

When a dog takes aliken to you you know you are blessed. A dog is mans best friend and God made it that way. After all , do you not go to the Dog house ( or sent )when all is not right.
The best of everything to you dear friend.
John Blank

[John Burke]

Sounds like a normal Thornberry adventure: except they usually end up with the skunk spraying both you and the dog. I think your luck is improving the further north you go. we sure miss you. john Burke