Karuk Trip from Happy Camp

Well my trip ended too soon, parked next to Elk Creek and it’s world-class view.

Me driving engine of one car train, Teri in Van, other half of our two-man crew.

We hooked up & before driving from town, bought fishing license at local store.

Paul Heaton, friend & money shaman, bought lures for me to fish in river’s roar.

Paul our host, a gentle folk, raised to know Jesuit God, braking now to explore.

Feeling & seeing other Gods, sailing other conduits, choosing not to stay ashore.

See Chuck’s log cabin, our intelligent young brave, while leaving in our RV limo.

Kind heart and self styled cook. Made and served Indian Tacos, before the demo.

First bend the tribal land, horses, Chief Buds shelter, souring Eagles white crown.

Good-bye to Happy Camp, where townsfolk know everyone’s smile & frown.

Gave Paul a Walkie-Talkie to tour guide us out of our too short joyous reprieve.

Down the Klamath, stop here, there, Paul greeting friends, up river we weave.

Round curves and bends, piles of rocks twenty & thirty feet high in lands fold.

Tailing, I’m told in the quest for the river man’s god. Just add “l” and it’s gold.

Summer Camps will swell with, year 2000, 49er miners who pan and use dredge.

They will go in every crook and cranny and even hang by their toes from a ledge.

Met a bar owner down the road, who’d said buying bar made another life.

A quiet place away from the more active life with its’ excitement and strife.

After a short stop for a couple of drinks and the jukebox with Paul’s favorite tune.

RV crawled around back of bar, fearing getting stuck, but I found plenty of room.

Paul yelled, “Here’s our fishing hole.” We pulled off the road in a gesture so bold.

Of course I forgot where fishing gear was, opened twenty places and every hold.

Finally dug out all parts, assembled appropriate gear, a fisherman was now here.

On went special lure given by Paul and agilely jabbed finger thrice while as I leer.

We walked across some old Oak planks of an ancient bridge made back in 1901.

Holding precariously my rod & reel in one hand, balancing, while calling it fun.

Slid down gravel, picking up a few burrs. Should have put on my older pants.

Climbed over rocks, pulling off stickers and recalling my special fishing chants.

First cast & knew world’s greatest fisherman has returned, as line didn’t tangle.

Rethought greatest, untangling second cast, looking at line, under thumb, mangle.

Third, forth, fifth, sixth seventh cast and thought, another California fishing day.

Then the special cast, strike, Yea! Got a fish & knew it was not small. Hooray!

Walked back across on old wood beams with two, of the three, Trout caught.

Teri said no fish in house, so Paul took home trout that I had so valiantly fought.

Look at Paul from askew, though, with a beard he would fit this land like a glove.

Down river stopped, watched cranes, flying up into tree & scare up a small dove.

Leaving Paul gave two options & road chosen seemed to go back where we came.

Paul knew all the gossip, the inside scoop, areas major players with claim to fame.

Tribes other home, Yreka, nice dinner, talked of Tribes plans, goals for the future.

Goodbye Klamath Corridor’s flowing rivers, both the babies & ones more mature.

Roland James May 2001