Some Place

My favorite trout is the Bonneville cutthroat. It has always been my favorite. It was my favorite long before I even knew that the little native trout, in the little creek (which seemed like a big creek when I was three), was a Bonneville.

What I've come to discover with age, is, I'm not that different from my beloved trout. The particular strain of Bonneville lives in a large natural lake of turquoise. It can grow large and in its large size likes to eat a couple of forage fishes--whitefish and cisco. When mature, the Bonneville will migrate to their birth place, the small creeks that feed the lake of turquoise. They will enter the creeks and swim to suitable "places" for spawning quite similar to Atlantic and Pacific Salmon. The stress of this endeavor will weaken some fish to the point of death, but for the most part, after spawning, the trout will migrate back to the lake. The fry will stay in the creek and as they get larger, some will migrate to the lake also. Some will remain in the stream and become stream residents. The fish that live in the lake take on a silver and blue color and are called blue-nosed trout by some. The stream trout are typically more colorful with green, red, and orange hues. Biologist say the color difference is due to diet and maybe to the availability of light or the difference of light in the different environments--natures way of providing camouflage.

I can remember back only so far--sometime in the range of age three. I remember standing on the banks of a creek in Southeast Idaho and looking into the creek's water. I remember its clearness, the color of the rocks, and the sound it made. The color orange stands out in my mind. I remember the reflected light glaring. I remember squinting.

I don't remember falling in. I don't remember fighting the current, or even being wet. I don't remember being cold. I don't remember floating face down. I don't remember being pulled out by my grandfather.

As I think back, and try to remember, I get the feeling that I didn't fall in by accident. Maybe I jumped in. Maybe I slowly walked in. Maybe I died in that creek and that I'm living in some alternate world. Sometimes, I hear the sounds of the river in my left ear. The constant sound of moving water. Sometimes, I get a spinning sensation in my head--a lightheadedness like I'm twisting and turning with the force of water. When this happens, I lay down and I close my eyes, I see the glare. With eyes closed, I float, I spin, I'm not here, I'm some place.

For the past 30 plus years, I have felt the need to see that same creek water, to look at it, to see orange, to hear it gurgle, to hear it churn, to blend the noise in my left ear with its voice, to realize that it is my voice-- my own voice calling my name. I go every year.