R.I.P. JC

Scattering JC's Ashes

Maybe coming down here alone wasn't such a good idea after all, I thought, as I fought my way through the thorny Blackberry briars. Salmon berry bushes tore at my shirt and stinging nettles raised welts on my arms.

Where in the hell is that trail? I was brush busting through what used to be a meadow with a nice winding trail a hundred feet or so along side Drift Creek. It had become completely overgrown with thorny brush and I finally gave up and pushed and clawed my way back through to the stream.

I'd carried JC's ashes down the steep, well maintained trail in my old backpack and my legs were already turning to rubber when I reached the campsite next to the stream. The plastic bag containing his “Cremains” couldn't have weighed much more than seven or eight pounds but it felt like a lot more. He ain't heavy, he's my brother! kept running through my head.

When I finally waded up to the big old Cedar tree with the brass plaque dedicated to our son and grandson Rick and Christopher, I dumped my backpack and took a long drink of cold water. The plaque that Brad's son, David had fastened to the Cedar was still in good shape and festooned with the usual array of fishing lures.

I carried JC's ashes upstream past the large redd where he and I used to watch giant Chinook Salmon turning on their sides to beat the silt out of the gravel bed with their bodies, and then laying thousands of bright pink eggs. When they hatched, the smolt would begin a journey down to the ocean and in three or four years they would return as adults ready to start the next generation.

I spread JC's ashes in a riffle and watched as a white, ghost like cloud of ash drifted through the clear water of the spawning area and finally down to our favorite fishing hole.

Foolishly I tried to find the trail through the meadow again, and once again had to fight my way back to the stream and wade down to the campsite, which evidently is the end of the maintained trail now.

It was slow going hiking back up to the trail head, but I eventually made it, and when I got to the car I called home to let Carol know I was OK, then I opened a can of beer and made a toast;

Rest in Peace, JC!