My dad first fished the Klamath River near Orleans on Labor Day weekeind in 1952. He was 10. It left an impression.
His last day fishing that water on the Klamath was on Labor Day weekend in 2019.
Every Labor Day of my childhood (save maybe one when a fire might have prevented it) we’d go to the Klamath. For most of my childhood that meant Klamath River Lodge, a collection of three cabins with a nice grass lawn, a pool and a gazebo overlooking a really nice steelhead run.
This isn’t a lodge in the way we tend to mean that today. It was lodging, but didn’t come with meals or guiding or cocktails. It was just a place to stay. It was remote and simple and kind of perfect. I don’t believe it has burned in these most recent fires, but I fear for its future. There is a lot of wilderness to burn up there and it is hotter and drier than it was back when I was a kid.
There were other days of fishing on the Klamath on other parts of the river, but when I think of fishing the Klamath, I think of this place.
There are so many memories here it is hard to condense them all down into a single written piece.
We often went here with family friends, the Quins, from Mt. Shasta. George was a fishing buddy of my dad’s, although he would maybe get to the water a little bit later and get off the water a little bit earlier.
There were the bears, which we’d see pretty much every time we went.
There were the frogs. Sometimes there would be thousands and sometimes dozens, but I always spent some time goofing around with the frogs.
There were the blackberries, which stained our fingers on the way down to the river and the way back up.
There were very early mornings as dad and I (mostly it was my dad and I as I think my brother stopped fishing around 10 or 11) would rise early and head down to the river with only a hint of sun in the sky as we sought to fish the “morning rise,” even though the fish didn’t rise and we were mostly fishing bait and spinning rigs.
There were the diners in the gazebo where we’d enjoy the view, maybe take a dip in the pool.
There were afternoon naps as we’d come up from the river when the sun was high overhead and head back when the sun started dropping behind the mountains.
There were games of catch on the lawn.
There was a lot of reading when we were off the water.
There was no TV and later no internet or phone service.
The fishing was sometimes good, sometimes OK and sometimes poor. We’d have 20 fish weekends and 2 fish weekends. The fish we were after were the half-pounders, young steelhead that would come back up the river in waves (maybe ripples) from their first taste of the salt. They were silvery, trout-sized fish that would pull harder than their unsalted relatives. Sometimes there would be an adult steelhead in the mix, but these early fish tended to be the half-pounders.
Dad loved these fish and even had a license plate that read “hlfpnder” or something like that, which confused all but the learned.
He loved that place and those fish.
Back in 2019 we knew something was up with dad. First, he was falling fairly regularly and had the bruises to show for it. He also had developed a bend while walking that made him look like the letter “C.” We didn’t know why this was happening, but that it was happening was undeniable… unless you were my dad, in which case “everything is fine.”
When he announced he’d be heading back to the Klamath for Labor Day my brother and I discussed how unwise this idea was and we came up with another plan… I’d go with him. Ya know… to keep him out of trouble.
I hadn’t been up there for years because, life. With modern life kicking in full gear, it was hard to get up that way for Labor Day. I’d first have to fight my way through Bay Area Labor Day traffic and it was about a 430 mile drive, the last part pretty windy as the road followed the river.
I think he knew this was probably the last time he’d be there, so there was an undercurrent of lament to the whole affair, but we were on the Klamath on Labor Day and it was hard to be too down about that.
There’s about a 0.2 mile walk to the river from where the lodge sits, which wasn’t too far for dad. However, it is downhill and then over rocks, which was a concern.
In the morning, dad and I headed down to the river after rigging up (the photo of dad on the porch of the cabin on the morning we last fished the Klamath remains one of my all time favorites). I had brought a folding chair with me, in case he got tired or just needed to take a seat. We were picking our way down the grassy slope and just as we neared the blackberry lined section dad slipped on the grass and landed heavily on his side.
We took some time to get him back upright and the seat came in handy as he took a rest for a bit in the chair. His back was hurting from the fall and we let things settle before we continued on.
The river has a very gradual entry. You can wade out 20 feet and be only 6″ or 12″ deep. Once we walked arm and arm over the rocks to get to the water, dad got in a position where he could make his spey casts (we had both converted to fly fishing a couple decades before) and I left dad to fish while I moved upstream to do my own fishing.
I managed to get a couple of smaller half-pounders on the swing, but as I watched dad I was a bit concerned about the grandual slump I was seeing as his body curled into that “C” shape. He also was barely out into the river, which was both understandable because of the slippery rocks, and not great, because he couldn’t get the casts he wanted.
I had a solution. I got the folding chair, set it in the water and suggested maybe he give that a go. It worked. Dad was abel to get a little bit further out in the river and his spey casts were able to get out into the current.
Dad even managed to get a fish from the chair. I’m not totally sure if the one pictured was his or mine, but either way, it would have looked pretty much the same. It was a half-pounder, a young steelhead, the fish that my dad loved so dearly.
After we had done a bit of fishing dad started to tire and so we called in a wrap and started the process of getting dad back up from the river.
It took a while. It was slow going moving back up the hill and by the time we made it to the cabin it seemed an awful lot of work to get down there and back. The idea was brewing that maybe this wasn’t a thing we would be able to manage a second or third time. How he thought he’d be doing this on his own, I have no idea.
We called an audible. We packed up and we left the Klamath and Klamath River Lodge. This wonderful place where my dad and I had so many memories was just now a little out of reach. Another day of fishing her waters would be hard and maybe even dangerous.
On the drive back to Dunsmuir we called The Fly Shop and found that guide Kris Kennedy had a spot open. We booked it and the next day we went out on the Lower Sac with Kris. We caught fish and dad got to sit the whole time. Kris was great with him and we enjoyed a good, solid day of fishing. I think this was the last really good day of fishing my dad and I had, although we’d manage to get in at least two more days on the water, maybe three.
Things were changing fast. Things that were doable were becoming hard or even impossible. It was hard to watch that decline, and I’d imagine even harder to experience it. Dad knew things were changing, although he always thought he was maybe a bit more able to do things than his body was actually capable of pulling off. It would be 2 more years until he would be in a float tube with Scott Embry and wouldn’t be able to kick to the shore by himself. Shortly thereafter he’d lose is driver’s license and move down to Alameda and then to Oakland.
It moved fast, that shrinking of his world, that taking-away-of-things perpetrated by old age and disease.
I was so glad I was there to get him on the Klamath River Lodge water one last time. I’ll miss the bend in his rod and the “Hoooooooo” that would accompany a hooked fish from down the run.
Now, the Klamath runs free, undammed. Dad didn’t get to experience that, but some time here in the next few years I plan to get there on a Labor Day Weekend and swing a fly through those waters and when I do, I’ll be thinking of my old man and the love he had for that place.
