Reaching Base Camp

Moonrise came about about 9 PM.  We still had eight miles to walk that night to get to base camp and food.    We walked again in groups, two’s, three’s and even four’s, I noticed through my daze.  Connie had my hand and at times was literally pulling me along, but never did she let go.  We didn’t stop, for that would have been the end.  We just kept putting feet down and picking them back up.  I wondered, at times, to whom those feet at the ends of my legs actually belonged.  I certainly had no sense of ownership.  And still we walked.

Somewhere around 2 AM or later, we came to a hill that had all our duffel bags there, piled in a heap.  We were told it was base camp.  There was no one else there.  No tents.  No fires.  Just a hill piled with duffel bags.  Again that sense of , "it this all there is?"  We were told to find our bags and food would be distributed.  I found my bag, pulled it a few feet uphill and collapsed, using it as a pillow.

Lynne woke me up, I don’t know how much later, and handed me a carrot.  Half asleep, I said no.  An huge, unpeeled  carrot just wasn't appetizing.  But she insisted, “You’ve gone too long without food.  Your blood sugar is too low.  You HAVE to eat.”  I took it and bit into the most delicious thing I had ever tasted.  Yes - an unskinned, fat, juicy carrot.  I ate almost half before falling asleep again.  Someone else woke me up by pushing a can under my nose, telling me to drink.  Thinking it was water, I said, “No – I will throw up.”  But they put the can to my lips and I drank – LEMONADE!!  Nectar of the Gods!  NEVER had anything tasted SO wonderful!  With that, I finished my carrot.

The leaders appointed a relief society president (Carol, Putt-Putt) and branch president (Nathan).  They began issuing oatmeal and brown sugar to each group.  One person was responsible for cooking it in the central cook fire and the others were to find campsites, firewood, and make fires.  The cooked oatmeal was divided within each group.  The oatmeal (looking back) wasn’t sweet enough, seemed to have equal parts of sand and oatmeal, but that night I gulped it down with my fingers (having not carved myself a spoon yet) and totally emptied my can.

I remember finding our campsite, but I don’t remember making a fire that night, or even the actual going to bed.  Everything immediately following the food is a blank.  It was the first night we got to sleep with our blankets, but I can’t tell you how I slept.




Sunday morning clean-up.  Kayla in front, Tag and Craig behind.



The next day was Sunday.  Food was passed out again, only more liberally this time.  We got one and a half pounds of hamburger, onions, potatoes, carrots, bouillon cubes, flour, salt, brown sugar and cinnamon for each family group.

We had relief society and priesthood sessions.  Carol spoke about going on the trail and shared Julie’s gift from her mom.  In packing her clothes, her mom had slipped a note inside the pocket of her “Sunday-go-to-meetin’” pants.  It was just a little note of love and ended with “great experiences don’t just happen, they are made.”  In closing, we sang “Love At Home.”  I couldn’t make it past the opening stanza, before I started crying.

That afternoon, we cooked and ate.  I went up away from camp ( see view from my reading spot below) and read the yellow sheets they gave us.  I read the part about sacrifice and wrote to my folks.  I loved them so much that day and felt SO far away – it was awful.  I couldn’t stop crying.



View from letter writing spot at first base camp.  The dark spot just above my knee, behind the mustard plant, was the overhang the leaders camped under.   The meadow at the middle of the left edge of the picture was where sacrament was held.  It was also the place where we first arrived and got food.  The group of tress in the middle of the picture, behind the ridge, is where we went to get water, only we went to the END of that canyon.


Just before sunset, we had our sacrament meeting.  The starkness of it really hit me, for it still had a beauty.  I was confused, mixed up.  The sacramental bread was ash cakes.  The water was passed in a canteen.  That was it.  We had four speakers and it was really a touching meeting.  I know I missed a lot because of being so wrapped up in ME; I was just out of it.  I couldn’t understand why I wasn’t feeling the joy the kids speaking were expressing.  I wasn’t feeling gratitude for being there.  I didn’t feel like that.  I was depressed, lonely, and homesick.  "What was wrong with me?" was the only thing I could ask myself.

We had a “rap session” after that and I told them how I felt.  Sundance said I was lucky because I already knew I was weak and would only become strong from that point on.  The others would have their trials later.  At the end, everyone went around hugging each other and talking and laughing.  It felt good and safe at the time, but walking away,I had that same old empty ache inside that I had so many times before when I left the Stanford’s student branch sacrament meeting.  Like, it wasn’t lasting.  The intense belonging and loving didn’t stick.  I still had to walk away alone.  And that hurt.

Again after Church, my group ate.  While we were by our fire, Dan came up to talk to me.  He said he knew exactly how I felt.  The first time HE went on Survival (WHO in the world would be crazy enough to go TWICE???) he felt that way too.  He didn’t enjoy anything, though, for wanting something else.  So, he advised me to just really live one day at a time.  Pray continually to the Lord, even as I walked; and walk by the Spirit.  I asked him what section of the Book of Mormon he recommended for me to read to help me.  (He was getting ready to go on a mission.)  He thought a few moments and then said Alma 32.  I thanked him and he left.

That did the most to lift my spirits!  After he left, I was really excited and happy.  I think it was more than what he said.  It was that someone really heard me and cared.  He was the only one who talked to me about it or seemed concerned.  I felt important and validated. 

Horse Thief Canyon

The other section of Survival kids had been going to use this site before us.  They were supposed to be gone, but as we came out of the brush, there were campfires ahead!   Our leaders made us go past them to make our camp.  I don't know why that was so hard, but for me, it was. 

The leaders pointed out this branch in the canyon where we would find water for the night – clean, cold, spring water!  Excitedly, we headed down the direction they told us.  The riverbed was so heavily muddied that we sank in to our ankles, at times.  It smelled stagnant and putrid.  But, for clean water – who cared!  But at the end, all we found was another muddy branch of the Green River, eddying into our riverbed.  I thought everyone would break into hysteria.  NEVER was anyone more disappointed.  I DID cry.  I dipped my cup in to muddy water.  Covering the cup with my handkerchief (to filter out some the solids), I drank two cupfuls of the muddy water.  I turned back up the wretched muddy trail to find our camp, feeling utterly retched, depressed, homesick and cold.

Another night of sleeping on the ground around an ineffectual fire, only this time my clothes were muddy, smelly and still wet.  The ground was damp and the fire wasn’t big enough or warm enough for the five of us trying to sleep around it.  The leaders let us sleep later the next morning because Section One had to leave first.  Roy had rejoined us during the night and he needed the chance to catch a little rest, too. 

We had covered 32 miles those first two days.  The first day we did 12 miles in 9 or 10 hours.  The second day we did 22 miles in 15-18 hours.

The third day we left camp around 10 or 11 AM and started up Horse Thief Canyon.  It was another hot, clear-sky day.  In the dark, the night before, we had taken the wrong turn looking for the spring.  The opposite direction did truly lead to a spring and I repented of doubting the joy they promised in good, sweet, “pollywog water.”  It was delicious and made the prospects of the day seem better.

At the spring, we “tanked up” and “wetted down” and began the hardest day yet, for me.  All of the trail into Horse Thief Canyon was uphill.  We climbed up away from the spring and farther into the canyon.  Everything about that day was hard for me.  It was hard to go on.  It was HOT.  I was tired and thirsty.  I must have been hungry, but I couldn’t feel it.  Ahead of me there just kept being bend after bend of the canyon.  This canyon had no water and seemed like it had no end.

I started falling behind.  Larry Mullins stayed back to walk with me for a while.  (Ask me what that was like.)  While Larry walked with me, he told me the story of the canyon.  In the old West, it had been a favorite “freeway” for horse thieves to take their spoils away.  They would drive them up the canyon, which had water for the horses, then to a horse trail that led onto “Robber’s Roost.”  There was plenty of grazing land and water there.  That was where Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid hid out.

He also told me where to look for water in a canyon.  You look for a place where the canyon is narrower, where there is less prolonged sunshine on the canyon floor.  You look for heavy vegetation and especially cottonwood trees because they can’t grow without water.

I felt badly about what I had done the night before, but after seeing how bad it was for him made me feel worse.  He had a walking staff and he leaned heavily upon it.  Once when I looked up at him, he didn’t know I was looking and the pain and effort to keep going showed plainly on his face.  For a while, that was enough to keep me going.  I thought a lot about how I had caused his suffering.  And then I started giving up again.  I asked if I could sit down and rest again.  There was one girl behind us who was having a worse time than I was.  Her name was Sheila.  I promised to get up when she got there and walk with her, so Larry let me stay and went on alone.

Anyway, I waited not so much for Sheila, as because I didn’t want to go anymore.  I didn't want to think about what trials I had caused for Larry.  But, when Sheila came, I got up and walked with her.  I had walked with her the night before when she had a charlie horse in her leg and it still seemed to be bothering her.  Walking with her, I could stop frequently because she would stop.  I massaged her leg, had her do exercises and prayed with her that she would be able to go on.  For a while that made me stronger.  We continued on until we got to the spring where the rest of the group was waiting. 

We had a long rest there, where we could take off our boots, dry out our feet and take a nap.  While I was taking my nap, I decided that I was going no further.  I was going to stay where there was water and shade.  I was beginning to be sick at that point and was really physically and emotionally down.  I would drink and then throw up all the water I had just drank.  I’d be thirsty again – drink, throw up, be thirsty, drink, throw up, etc.  Everyone started getting ready to leave and I just kept lying there. 

Our group leader, Jeff, came up and asked what was wrong.  I told him that I didn’t want to go.  He said he knew I could do it.  He said each one of us were having our own personal trials.  His trial right then was that the trip wasn’t a physical effort for him.  He had to learn to be patient with the slow pace and learn to help with the hurting ones.  That was what was hard for him – to keep from running ahead and doing it all alone.

So, again, I got up, put my shoes and socks back on and joined my group.  Somewhere that day we had been divided up into groups designed to keep together and watch out for each other.  Up until then, we had either been on our own or having one partner to walk with.  The only ones I can remember being in my group that day is Craig, Tag, and Connie. 

We headed up to the end of the canyon and started up the horse trail at the end.  Never have I relied so completely on someone in a physical sense until that point.  Craig walked ahead of me, holding my hand almost the whole way.  Connie was right behind me, encouraging me all the time.  Tag's sense of humor and encouragement helped.  It was a steep climb and I had to stop and catch my breath several times – and still they were patient and kind with me.

Finally we reached the top and I was so exhilarated I could hardly stand it.  We were back on top of the mesa and could see all the distance we had walked.  We could see back to Horseshoe Canyon and where it joined the Green River and where Horse Thief Canyon separated from Green River to where we now stood.  It was overwhelming to realize I had covered all that traveling only on my own two feet.  And that I hadn’t done it alone.  It was powerful for all of us.  Spontaneously, we all just started singing “The Spirit of God” and the “Come, Come, Ye Saints.”  SOOO beautiful.  It was literally true.  By that time, it was dark and again we had to wait for the moon to rise to have light to walk by.

When the moon came up, we walked to a pothole, where cattle usually drank and were able to get some water.  Then began OUR version of The Long Walk.

Day Four - the Battle of Green River

Our sleep lasted until daylight, about four hours later.  "We're burning daylight, pilgrims!"  We doused our fires and started the longest day I think I ever knew.  We drank from the spring, which grossed us out.  It had polliwogs in it.  One of the leaders said, " A few days on the trail and you will be praying for some good polliwog water!"  I silently doubted his sanity.


Still tired, we hiked further into Horseshoe Canyon until we came to the Green River.  Our leaders drew us altogether and explained that we were going to hiking along this river all day.  It would be our only source of water and that we were going to bless it.  I had never considered such a thing.  The youth leader called Yosemite kneeled down on the sand, took off his hat and blessed the river as a water source for us.  It was very moving and symbolic.




Green River, Impact -  girl in yellow hat, Susan.  girl with blue bandana, sitting on rock, Vivian.  guy with red bandana over face, Don.  "Yosemite"Dan helping Vivian.  Girl with large white hat, Sheila.  Girl with black hat and red bandana, Janet.  Girl to the right of Sheila and Susan, Sharon (female leader).
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Hiking on the river bed was different than I thought to would be.  Harder for me because I wasn't in the physical shape I should have been in.  It was a constant uphill, downhill climb, with rocks to scrabble over.  My legs were killing me.  It was hot.  We weren't making very good time with all the stops we were wanting to make. 


There was a guy named Roy who was having a really hard time.  Roy was older than most of the group, and really heavy.  He was really into Boy Scouting and was working on a degree in Youth Leadership from BYU.  He had completed every requirement with the exception of this class.  He was scared he wouldn't make it.  He had brought contraband equipment with him, things that weren't on our allowed list. 


That day was terrible.  We had nothing at all to eat and only the Green River to drink.  Green River water is just a very, very watery mud.  We had to use our bandannas to filter the water as we drank, to keep from getting so much silt.  Everyone was getting discouraged and travel was slow due to people getting sick.  there was no shade and it was very hot.


The sickness.  No one talked about that in our training classes.  When you don't eat, bile builds up in your stomach.  The Green River is very alkaline.  When you drink alkaline water, under those conditions, it creates an acid in your stomach - and you vomit.  The more water you drink, the more you vomit.


Roy was among the first.  The more he heaved, the weaker he got.  Our pace along the river slowed to a crawl.  , Roy couldn’t keep up with us that day, so one of the leaders stayed behind with him To help speed up our progress.  The main group kept moving.
  Being ahead did not end Roy's influence on us however  His retching echoed down the canyon.  It sounded like he was throwing up his toenails.  It made ME want to heave.

People l to R:  Reggie (who left early); Nathan, in the yellow hat; Carol "Putt-Putt" in red bandana, Chris in the foreground, untying her boots.

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After one long, hot stretch, we stopped by the Green River and learned another survival rule.  Water on the outside does more good towards keeping you cool than water on the inside.  Larry Mullins (leader) showed us how to wet-down and we rested about two hours.  I stretched out on an uneven boulder and sleep like a baby.  Who knew a rock could be so comfortable.  Then the march started again.

After one long hot stretch, we stopped to wait for Roy to catch up.  We learned that putting water on the outside did more good towards keeping you cool than water on the inside.  My favorite leader, Larry Mullins, showed us how to wet-down and we rested about two  hours.  I stretched out on an uneven boulder and slept like a baby.  Who knew a rock could be so comfortable!  But it was SO hard to start up again!  The rest of the afternoon, the leaders really had to drive us.  People were falling back and being discouraged.  It was SO hard to walk.


The daylight was fading and our camp site was still miles away.  We had to stop for another rest stop and wait for the moon rise.  When it rose, the cattle drive began again.  The leaders cajoled and we walked.  We told us that a spring at the next camp site would be clear, and not like the Green River water.  I would walk my feet off for that! 

Another rest stop was taken.  As we rested, the leaders pointed out two pinnacles in the distance as our destination – saying it was about two miles away.  Everyone, with their eyes on the distant rocks, started moving again.
 

On we walked, only to have the pinnacles seem as far away as they had before.  It was like having lead legs, walking without feeling, only wanting to stop and rest – but being pushed on and on to a camp that never seemed to come.  We were all like zombies.  Walking, not talking.  

Miraculously, we rounded the pinnacles and entered Horse Thief Canyon, our destination! 

The promise of clean, fresh water pulled us forward.  But, our path was blocked by a jungle of thick canyon bottom bushes.  

Densely grown, and taller than our heads.  The only way through was to walk hunched over, single file.  The branches were spread apart as you went through, but slapped back into place as you passed, slapping the face of the person behind you.  You could hold the big ones, but the little branches just slipped out of your hands.  

Suddenly, there are campfires ahead!

Day Three - What Have I Done??

The first phase of Survival was called "Impact."  It was a simulated survival situation.  They planned the course to parallel the Plan of Life.  This was to represent birth through 8 years old.  A time of complete dependence.

It started with a bus ride from Provo to Green River, where we had lunch.  The trip was pretty rowdy, with lots of Adrenalin.  I don't even remember who I sat next to on that trip.  I was already having second thoughts.  Upon arriving in Green River,  we found that there was going to be a three to four delay to the rest of our trip.  Our back-up truck was late. 

We had been given instructions to buy a canned drink during our stop there.  After drinking it, we were to cut off the top with our trusty boy scout pocket knife and smooth out the edge.  The container would be our drinking glass/mess kit for the next 28 days.  As for eating utinsels, it was up to us to create them for ourselves, out on the trail.  Cottonwood made good spoons, we were told. 

Another instruction was to "tank up" on water.  We were told to drink as many cans of water as we could without throwing up.  At that point we were to drink one more.  I think I drank about six.  There was a little visiting and a lot of resting until the back-up truck arrived.  We were on our way again!

We left Green River and headed south on Hwy #24, towards Lake Powell.  About halfway to Hanksville, we slowed down and made a left off the highway and onto a dirt road.  During the hours of the drive, the water proceeded to make it's way through our bodies.  Try riding along a bumpy, dirt road.  Bouncing up and down on a full bladder.  We were miles and miles from anywhere.

In class, we had been given "trap setting" instructions.  How to take care of bodily eliminations.  Now we got to apply our knowledge!  They stopped the bus - "Girls to the right, boys to the left."  We dashed off into the limited bushes and were grateful!  The boys got a bad deal.  Their side of the road went uphill, so there was no getting out of sight.  One ran as far as he could before relieving himself.  Unfortunately, he was perfectly silhouetted against the sky! 

Finally we reached a nondescript spot and the bus stopped.  It was twilight.  Our delay in Green River had cost us daylight walking time.  We would have to make the hike down into the canyon in the dark.

This was our first sunset on the trail.



(Something that struck me about this picture is the distance between us.  We were a bunch of strangers waiting for the word to move out.  We were never this separated in any of the other pictures.  We drew together, literally.)

In the deepening twilight, we milled around.  Waiting.  We unloaded our gear.  All of it stayed there on the ground for the back-up truck to pick up later.  It would be transported to our first base camp site.  All we were allowed to bring with us was our "possible" bag, our aluminum can and the clothes on our backs.  Period.  We then "tanked up" on the water they had brought for us and started our hike.

When the full moon came up, we started out.  Heading down a dirt road, crossing over the desert, climbing over rocks and various things was an adventure.  We had to make it to the canyon edge and then negotiate the wild horse trail to the canyon floor.  One of the leaders, Lynn, kept saying "Follow me."  Being a Carole King fan, it automatically prompted me to sing:

"Where you lead, I will follow.  Anywhere that you want me to.  If you need me to be with you, I will follow where you lead."

She told me to save my energy, that I was going to need it.  It was my version of "whistling in the dark."  Lynn wasn't lying either.

The path was steep in places and I was glad it was dark.  I couldn't be afraid of heights if I couldn't see the bottom or where I was.  It really WAS a scary thing to do, but we just handled each obstacle as it came and we helped each other through it.  Good ice breaker.   Once we made it down to the canyon floor, we then had to hike through the canyon to the spring where we would be spending the night.  We learned it was called Horseshoe Canyon.

We arrived at the spring between 3AM and 4AM, so the hike took us about six hours.  To make camp, we needed to build fires.  We couldn't use matches.  It was flint and steel or nothing.  With the fires blazing away, we could now lay ourselves down on the bare sand, in the same clothes we had worn all day (and WOULD be wearing until we reached base camp) and try to sleep.  It was surprisingly easy.

How I Became a "Survivalist"

I had no concept of what I TRULY was getting into.  This happens a lot in my life...hmmmm...

I read the description.  Words do not convey the actual experience.   Case in point:

Transition in labor is described as "the most intense part of labor. Contractions are usually very strong, coming every two and a half to three minutes or so and lasting a minute or more, and you may start shaking and shivering."

Does that give you an accurate picture of what you are in for??  No way Jose!  Somehow in reading, your brain skips over the words "most intense."  We get the impression that it is going to be uncomfortable and maybe scary.  HA!  Little did we know!

THAT was my experience with Survival!

I only knew about the class because I met a girl who was taking the fall trip in 1972.  I had never heard of it before then.  She told me general things and I thought it sounded amazing.  I heard her pre-trip and post-trip descriptions.  Post-trip mostly consisted of  "it's not something I can easily explain...we walked a lot..."  and she spoke of how much she grew spiritually on the trip.  She was preparing to go on a mission and thought it was the perfect pre-mission experience she could have had.  Sounded good.  I wanted to go.

I am not really a detail-oriented person.  I'm kind of a "fly-be-the-seat-of-my-pants" gal.  Okay - I'm a total disaster!  My plans for going to this class were - sketchy - to say the least.  I didn't think though the details at all.  I wanted to go.  I quit my job.  Took my last paycheck, and took off for Utah.  I left my stuff with my roommates, including my car, and got a ride with a guy in the branch who was going to Utah. 

The course offered on-campus housing for the first two days and the last day of the course, which I applied for and received.  I arrived at the first class September 11, 1973 - blithely unaware of what lay ahead.

BYU Youth Leadership 480 - 1973

Lately, I have been obsessed with the memories of an experience I had in 1973.  It was one of the most significant experiences of my life.  The lessons I learned that month in the desert changed my life that year, and every year since.  Not a week goes by that something doesn't bring those experiences back, and I learn again.

That experience was put on by BYU as part of their scouting curriculum.  It was a month long "outdoor experience."  Can you believe they summarized it that way?  I laugh.  Studiously described as "youth acculturation through Outdoor Survival."  Boy, howdy!  Take a look at their flier:

Perhaps moving to southern Utah, in the very neighborhood where the course took place, has something to do with it.  I don't know.  I DO know that names, events, vistas pop into my mind uninvited ALL the time.  Time will tell what the significance of that will be.  I feel caught up and, well, excited about this.  I thought it might be a good time to share.

During the time we were in the wilderness, we functioned as a traveling branch (congregation, for non-LDS).  On Sundays, we had sacrament meeting.  As part of this "obsession," last week, during church, a memory came of a testimony meeting we had while on our trip.  A girl got up and told of her testimony of Jesus Christ.  She was amazing.  As part of her statement, she added, "...if you remember nothing else about me, remember that I loved the Lord..."  (or words to that effect...it's been a number of years).  BUT - I always HAVE remembered her that way. 

Her nickname on the trail was Tag.  Suddenly, I knew her whole name, which I haven't thought about for many, many years.  The impression was so strong, I wrote down her name and decided to look on Facebook for her when I got home.  I did just that.  I found her.  Go figure!  She wrote back and it turns out she is a blogger, too.  She shared her blog with me, telling me that she started blogging about Survival a couple years ago.  I was ecstatic!

Reading her experiences on the same trip I had taken was an eye-opener.  We had totally different experiences!  Which actually makes sense.  We are different people, put in the same situation to learn different lessons.  We weren't each at the same point physically or spiritually.  I just had never considered it before and have had no contact with other group members to compare notes.

Finding someone who has been though what I experienced validates all my feelings.  Survival, like most life experiences, can't be shared in words.  It must be experienced.  Having made that journey together, as different as each individual experience might have been, bonds us together. 

Imagine me a 24 year old girl.  Go on!  If I gave you guys anything - it is imagination!  Use it!

Fishing with Grandpa

From the time I could hold a pole, I used to go fishing with my grandparents.  We fished in farm ponds, small lakes, large lakes, streams - any place where they were biting.  Grandpa had an aluminum boat and trailer and we used it often.

(found on-line: http://www.barteverettphotography.com/Kansas.html )

The farm ponds in Kansas didn't involve the boat.  We drove out to some one's acreage and parked as close to the pond as possible.  Then we walked out to the pond, sometimes dodging cow pies!  Mostly it would be a day in the sun, since most farm ponds didn't have many trees around them.  We fished from the banks and skirted around the reeds.  We mostly caught bluegills and crappy.  If Grandpa was lucky, he would get a couple bass.

(found at:  http://www.visittablerocklake.org/page.php?id=9)

The big lakes were mostly in Missouri - like Tablerock.  That was one of his favorites.  We would use the boat and go out for most of the day.  We'd go around and hit little coves and I'd always wish I could just jump in the water and swim.  Fishing taught me patience and how to sit still and be quiet.  It wasn't always a pleasant lesson, but when I caught a fish, it was worth it!

I remember going to "fish camps" with my grandparents.  There we would rent a little cabin for a couple days.  The owners were always friends of my grandparents and we spent as much time sitting and visiting as we did fishing.  We would sit outside the cabin in the late afternoon, as twilight creeped up on us, Grandpa smoking his cigarette, listening to the whip-poor-wills and other birds.  The frogs would start croaking, as the sun went down.  The colors of the sunset played over the water and I could hear Grandma working on supper.  It was a different time.  There were no TVs or radios.  The cabin only had one bed.  I slept across the foot of their bed at night.  We got up before dawn to get out on the lake.  And I loved it.

By the time I got to be an adolescent, Grandpa had gotten excited about fly fishing for trout.  My favorite summer memories were our trips to Bennett Springs, Missouri.  It is an underground spring-fed fishery that was about the most beautiful places I had ever been.  I had total freedom there. 

Fishing there had time limits.  It began about 5:30-6:00 AM, with a loud siren going off.  We were up, dressing in chest-high waders, and out in the river by the time it went off.  Believe it or not.  Think of walking out into COLD water, in the dark, to wait for the chance to throw your line.  It was exciting!  The fish bite best in the early morning and drop off after that.  I had learned to fly fish, as well, and took pride in how well I could handle the pole.  Nothing was exciting as pulling in a big rainbow trout!  They were smart and not easily fooled. 

Grandpa always made a big deal about my catches.  It was our job to clean the fish we caught, since Grandma had to cook them.  I loved everything I did with my Grandpa. 

Nicknames

My Grandpa Tooley gave me the nicknames that I remember.  I was born towards the end of the big radio show period.  My grandpa used to call me "Snooks."  It was after a character on the "Bickersons" radio show, Baby Snooks.  He called me that even after I was married.  If he called me "Paula," it was usually because I was in trouble.  He was usually the only one who used nicknames.  I liked them.

The other nickname I remember was "Doodle-bug."  That was what they called the little "pill" bugs that we found in the garden.  If you touched them, they would curl up into a ball.

For My Grandkids

For some time now, the youngest daughter has been encouraging me to document many of the stories I have told them verbally.  With all good intentions, I have done very little.  I have an adversion to taking a book and writing page after page.  Not sure why. 

Last year my son got sentenced to ten years in prison.  That changed many things, including my writing habits.  As he is incarcirated in another state, I don't get to visit him frequently.  We have struck up a heathy correspondence!  As I read the issues he stuggles with on a week to week basis, it triggers similar experiences from my past and I write about them.  At this point, he knows more about some of my early life trials than anyone else in the family.  I decided that as these memories come up, I needed a place to share them with all my children and grandchildren.

I have bought (and been given) several of those "Grandma's memories" books and the space they offer is too restrictive for me to even start answering the questions offered there. I gave those books to my Mom as well and now i think I know why she didn't fill them out. I like the idea of sharing my life by writing about subjects, rather than a timeline format.  That will fit well into a blog format and that is what I can going to start!