So, its December and many months from my last posting, I am almost two weeks into a self imposed exile from climbing, and losing my proverbial marbles. For days now I've been intending to write something, anything and then it hit me... tonight I was sitting in front of the woodstove enjoying some "Pure Kentucky" bourbon, reading "the Last American Man" about Eustance Conway, and listening to Brown Bird when a memory came flooding back and I knew I had to get it written down before I lost it for good.
I was sitting in my chair by the fire reading the story of Conway and had just gotten to the part about his experiences with horses when the memory of two distinct events hit me... The first was being home several years ago and talking with my dad when he relayed an odd story to me. As I remember it my dad was driving down Clark Road, a road which he has traveled more times than one could ever possibly quantify, when he passed an odd sight. A man on horse back was riding down Clark Road. Now Paradise, Ca has its contingency of horse back enthusiasts, in fact several of our family friends owned horses and rode them regualarly, but what made this story interesting was not the fact that a horse was being ridden down Clark road. It was who was riding this horse. As I remember it my dad described a man, not a "cowboy" exactly, but a man in rough clothes... jeans, a button down shirt, boots, spurs, and a scabbard with a rifle across the saddle riding down Clark Road. There are no working cattle operations in Paradise and I'm not sure if there were ever any yet here was a man on horseback riding down the road as calm as can be. Where was he going, where had he come from? My dad drove by and now claims that it never happened! Yet I remember him telling me this story as plain as can be!
Now for memory number two! About a year ago I had loaded up the hound and gathered my fishing gear and was headed down to Oak Creek. Now, for better or worse, I tend to call my friend Anna when I leave the house on these trips down to the creek and talk to her for the drive to the switchbacks where I lose service. On this day though as I was approaching the switchbacks talking to Anna I passed a man on horseback with his cattle dog trotting alongside him. Well, this is Arizona and I initially didn't think too much about it. Anna and I were deep in conversation so I pulled off the road across from the Oak Creek Overlook so we could finish our conversation. As I sat talking with Anna the man on horse back passed me and I noticed that this was no casual "Western" rider or typical Az redneck. He had a sleeping roll across the back of his saddle with a yellow slicker tucked into it and a rucksack hanging from one side. He wasn't "duded" up but was definitely a cowboy. I'm not sure but I imagine he had a rifle across the pommel and his dog trotting dutifully at the side of the horse. As I looked up, deep in conversation, I saw him assess the switchbacks and cross over to the Overlook. I figured this must be the turnaround point of his outing. After about twenty minutes Anna and I said our goodbyes and I headed down to my favorite fishing spot. I had just started down the switchbacks at my usual breakneck speed when, by God, there he was! There was the cowboy atop his horse trotting as calmly as can be down the switchbacks. And where you ask was his dog? Why of course his faithful companion was laying sidesaddle in his lap. I shook my head as I gave him a wide berth and continued on.
I threaded the eyelets of my fly-rod and embarked on a marginally successful day of fishing without another thought to the cowboy. After and hour or so I had covered most of the water that I usually set out to fish and was lounging by a big pool above which a lay a series of smaller deeper pools. Being that this section of water is one of the few areas of Oak Creek that aren't directly visible from the road and not many tourists find their way down I stripped down and was enjoying a casual soak when from above a voice sounded. "Hey, there any fish in there?" startled I looked around only to realize that the voice was coming from above, near where the road ran. I looked up and there he was, straight out of a Cormac McCarthy book, the cowboy. I was stunned. "You catch anything?" Yeah, I stammered a few rainbows and a brown. His dog poked his head over the edge. "How far is the next store?" uhhh, a few miles.... "Less than 10?" definitely, probably 2 or 3 "Thanks, have a good one." and he was gone... I sat there with the creek rushing about me, trying my damnedest to figure out who that damn cowboy was... and here I am still trying to figure out who that damn cowboy was....
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