The Fish Story

The first story from Yukon I have to tell is about the fish that was suppose to be my dinner.

The first year Dad and I went up north we found our road and followed if off the highway to the river that had washed the road out.  

"We were there on the rode up to are clame (claim) but, we were up about 2 1/2 miles and the river had cut the rode (road) of from the flude (flood)." (July 12, 1992 )

We were already a solid two hours from the tiny little town of Watson Lake, the town of the sign post. 

We made camp at the end of the washed out road and forged our own road back to the claim.  I road my bmx the first year and dad the Trail 90.  The second year I got my own motor bike so I could keep up with him.

Every night I would try my hand at fishing with my little compact fold up pole. I knew there was this giant fish in that hole because I would occasionally see him, but never got anything past a nibble.  I wanted to eat that fish for dinner.  I wanted Dad to be proud of me.

Half way through summer we had stumbled upon some abandoned trapper cabins and decided to relocated camp there to be more comfortable.  On the day we packed up I had done my part and was waiting around for Dad to finish so I grabbed my pole for one last hopefully whack, at that fish.  I was out there for a good amount of time before Dad hollered at me to load up.  By that time I was so frustrated with that dam fish that on my very last cast I reeled it in as fast as I possibly could.  And then something miraculous happened.  That fish jumped completely out of the water over my line and then vanished back into the water.  My would be dinner had mocked me. 

I loved my Garfield.

If it wasn’t for the fact that I caught the biggest fish at the next camp I would have abandoned fishing entirely after that summer.

"Today are traler brok (trailer broke) down.  But dad siad , "Don't worry I'll fix it."  And he did. (Aug. 15th 1992)

My dad next to a sign on the highway as we traveled north.  My family name is Hyde.
The truck and trailer in the background was our home and work horse for those two summers.

The view of the washed out river bank from the window over my bed.
I used a brief case that summer for my books and my art supplies.

The land where the sun never went down.

I took a lot of pictures that summer.  But by the time I got home in September to develop it, the film had been destroyed.  What I lacked in photos I made up for in drawings, I just have to find that folder.