Trout Haven

Fishing is one of those Summer activities especially popular in the Rocky Mountains, and is encouraged upon young boys by their fathers. I have to admit that there is something attractive about fishing, some sort of primal , hunter instinct that compels men and boys to capture, kill and eat wildlife, and being in the mountains only goes to bring out theses feelings. There is a primal and instinctual feeling about fishing which I displayed once driving in the car with Dad on our way to a fishing adventure. I was quite young and excited about going fishing and I was convinced that I would have good luck if when driving by the river along the way I could summon all the fish to be caught if I yelled out the window of our moving car, at the top of my lungs, "Pooparoodum Fish!" over and over again. This call had an American Indian quality and significance, and for years to come was the the symbolic phrase for fishing.

Dad gave me a fishing rod early on and I remember only using it on very few occasions. The first was somewhere on the trip when we needed to stop in some small remote town and do laundry. Of course the logical roles were taken in that mom did the laundry in the Laundromat while Dad and I went fishing at a nearby lake. As luck would have it there was a bait and tackle store right next to the Laundromat and a perfect fishing lake a few yards away. So off mom went to do her chores as all good women folk should do, while Dad and I attempted to provide game for the tribe. We needed a few necessities for the rod which included bait, hooks, sinkers and floats, which we proceeded to pick up, as well as a bit of advice from the man running the tackle shop. The bait we used was a jar of those pink salmon eggs which resembled red caviar, in fact it was so much like caviar that Dad suggested I could eat it. This was really not too unusual because I recall snacking on these fish eggs with David and Uncle Bob on a few other occasions and remarking on the similarity to caviar, in fact it tasted pretty good and Dad always commented that it was a suitable and cost-effective substitute for caviar if the need ever raised. So upon opening the jar of bait I had to sample a few of the eggs and enjoying the freshness of the new jar. As bait, I'm not too sure how effective the little fish eggs were, impaling a few on the hook simple popped them which resulted in the loose membrane hanging off the hook, which then came off in the water almost immediately. But the fish eggs seemed to be a popular and effective bait so I trusted Dad and the advice of the bait & tackle shop that this would attract fish to my hook.

We also had to tie the hooks, weights and floats onto the line which, even to this day is a frustrating and tedious task always resulting in a tangled mess which inevitably needs to be cut completely off with the scissors from the Swiss Army Knife and started completely over. But we finally get the hooks and everything straightened out and the long awaited moment arrived when you get to cast the line into the water where eager trout wait (with baited breath) to be pulled out. As expected the first couple of casts were awkward and result in potential snagging of oneself by the hook in the eye, but Dad and I quickly got the hang of it and we cast the line way out into the water. The first thing we noticed was that the float was way too small and didn't provide enough buoyancy to stay afloat, and simply sank in the water. This was a little disappointing because it only meant another delay to catching a fish, so Dad sent me back into the bait & tackle shop to upgrade the float to bigger one. The floats themselves were those red and white balls with a little button on top that pushed a hook fastener on either end to attach the line, so it was really easy to switch the float off the line, and I was able to exchange the float for the next bigger size.
I returned to the lake and we attached the new bigger float, only to find out that it too was not enough to keep the hook and weight afloat. So again I returned to the bait & tackle store for a bigger float. This time the upgrade to a bigger float required an additional cost, which meant I had to return to Dad at the lake and ask for more money. I didn't have a specific amount to tell Dad and this only annoyed him but he sent me back with some change to cover the amount, which I think it did, and I came back with the bigger float. Again, it wasn't big enough and while I was disappointed, Dad seemed amused and once again I was sent back to the bait & tackle shop for the next bigger float. This must have happened more than a few times, me going back and forth to exchange the floats and having to struggle with negotiating the extra cost between my dad and the bait & tackle man, because finally the shop guy had enough dealing with me and asked that I just bring the whole fishing rod and he could determine which combination of float and weight would be the best. So I convinced Dad to come with me and bring the rod with us, which revealed for one, the lead weight we were using was way too big, and in addition of changing the weight, we needed one of the big expensive floats. I began to wonder what the point of the other floats were if they didn't actually float, and they shouldn't be sold in the first place. But anyway, after some discussion with the bait & tackle guy we went back to the lake confident we had the proper fishing gear. Indeed, the float stayed on top of the water, but Dads opinion about the size of the float was that it was overwhelming and only scared the fish away. In any event, I stood there patiently and waited for a nibble... which never came.

This experience at the lake with the huge floater and the bait & tackle shop was a source of conversation for Dad to be repeated for years to come as a lesson about how not to fish, and how the guy at the bait & tackle shop was an idiot, but I never got an acceptable explanation about the proper way, only that the bait & tackle man was leading us astray. I now think it was a classic case of miscommunication. But, there is one was for a truly guaranteed way to catch a fish, and that was "Trout Haven". Trout Haven was a trout farm in the town of Estes Park and consisted of a big concrete tank in the ground filled with dozens of rainbow trout. No licence, pole or fishing experienced required. They would give you a bamboo stick with a line and baited hook on it, (the bait was a piece of cheese I remember and wondered if we should forgo the fish eggs and use cheese from now on), and all you would do was dip the hook into the water and less than a minute later a trout would take the hook and you would pull the line up to a guy waiting with a net to get the fish. The guy would then take out a little club and expertly whack the fish on the head to knock it out, The guy would then take it to a little table and sink in the back and clean it for you right before your eyes. Cleaning the fish was somewhat brutal and done without emotion as they cut the belly open and pulled the guts out. I remember the guy cleaning my fish found the still beating heart of the fish and showed it to me on the end of his finger, I asked if the fish was still alive and he assured me it wasn't. The guts were washed down the sink and I noticed that it just washed out into the tank where the other trout were and I had just fished. The trout became excited at the gut water dumping into the tank and there was a mini feeding frenzy going on. This was fishing for tourists at it's best and it took no longer 10 minutes from renting the pole to receiving a completely cleaned fish wrapped in newspaper, ready to be taken home and cooked. For us the logical next step was for me to give it to the Wind River Ranch chef with special instructions to have it ready for breakfast the next day. Not only was this one of the few times I was allowed in the Wind River Ranch kitchen and met the chef, it was also my firs experience with eating fried trout for breakfast, which for us became the normal way to have trout.

Trout Haven became a short-lived tradition however, we returned one of the following years to find out not only did Trout Haven have limited hours of operation, but there was a big ominous sign at the gate telling everyone the price for the experience was $25 per fish. Now realize at the time, given the rate of inflation for 1969, by today's standards this seemed to be about $100 per fish. Dad wasn't the only one outraged by the price because word quickly spread around the ranch about the exorbitant price charged at Trout Haven and could only be explained as an arrogant attempt to rip people off and disappoint children. Dad, as always, took it as a personal insult and was angry that another good thing that he enjoyed went away because of greed and apathy. I have to admit though that Dad did have a knack for making establishments he liked go out of business. Possibly it was because Dad was attracted to the quirky and unusual places, which tended to scare off normal folks, and despite the "good idea" and critical acclaim, they tended to struggle as a business. But as a rule it was a safe bet that if Dad liked the store or restaurant, it was doomed to failure. Needless to say it was obvious Trout Haven was in trouble and disappeared from the list of attractions and tourist activities in Estes Park.

But Trout Haven was a valuable experience, it gave me the confidence and experience to go out there and fish "for real" in a natural lake or stream. And on one occasion I finally got to experience some fishing success. Armed with the appropriate tackle, and now knowing that cheese is a far better bait for Rainbow Trout, I cast my line into the water and patiently waited for that tell-tale nibble on the line. At this point Dad had left me on my own devices to fend for myself, which is the way it should be. The whole point of fishing is two-fold, to go out with other guys to socialize, in this case I was out with Dad, Uncle Bob and David, and also to be left alone. So I was determined to do this all by myself. David was the first to catch a fish, which didn't surprise me since he was older and had more experience. This prompted Dad to encourage me further, to not let David and Uncle Bob get the only fish! I recall the wait wasn't very long and I finally felt the unmistakable tug on the line. It was different than the feeling of getting the line caught in the rocks or catching a stick, it was a vibrating tug with a definite "live" personality that only meant I had caught a fish. Dad and Uncle Bob coached me and I anxiously reeled it in, careful not to tug too hard or let it go. I remember seeing the fish right before I pulled it out of the water and was thrilled at the fact that this wasn't another false alarm, that I had actually caught one. I pulled the fish out and it wiggled furiously on the hook and I struggled to get hold of it as it was both wiggly and slippery. I got a handle on the fish, (it wasn't very big but enough to make a substantial breakfast) and with the help of Dad pulled the hook out of it's mouth. Getting the hook out was more difficult than expected and required force and injury to the fish, which at this point I was still trying to be both forceful and gentle. After I got the hook out I remembered from Trout Haven that you had to bash the trout on the head to knock him out, which I tried to do by holding it by the lower end and smashing it's head against a rock. This attempt was awkward and ineffective, only torturing the poor fish and causing Dad and Uncle Bob to laugh. With the help of Dad we got the fish under control and proceeded to clean it with my pocket knife, a process that was only a little gross and not as difficult as I thought. I made it a point to find the still beating heart and hold it at the end of my finger like the guy at Trout Haven and both David and I thought this was really neato. The next day at Wind River Ranch I proudly ate breakfast caught and provided by me.