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Short Stories & Tall Tales
The Creek
R.Howard Trembly
When I was a young child of nine, we lived in a small hollow in the woods called Alderwood Manner, in the state of Washington
The house we lived in was small for a family of five children, my oldest sister had already married and moved away, leaving my older brother to fend for the rest of us kids, while my mother worked as a waitress on one of the Ferry Boats going from Seattle across Puget Sound to Bremerton, Washington and back several times daily.
The trip is one of awe inspiring beauty today, even with almost every island occupied by several homes. I can only imagine what it looked like back in the 1800’s when the population was much less dense, the islands lonely and primitive in their natural state.
Times were hard in those days, my mother was estranged from my stepfather and there was not much money to go around for such things as food. But behind the house was, “The Creek.” A glorious flowing ribbon of water that dissected our meager property right through the middle, running from North to South, later to empty many miles away into the greater Puget Sound.
By this time in my life I was already an avid fisherman, and spent many days along the banks of this, to my knowledge, unnamed stream. It gave me life on days when I felt lonely and sad, and more likely than not, hopeless.
My stepfather was a violent man, and appeared at the house when he knew my mother was somewhere in the middle of the Sound trying her best to make a meager living for her brood of kids, so far away in Alderwood Manner. At these times, beatings were the norm of the day; hence the feeling of helplessness permeated my every waking moment.
But I had, “The Creek.”
And since the trout that inhabited this wonderful living section of water had not been fished much, only by those that lived along its banks, were large and plentiful, it gave me sustenance as well. One day after seeing a show about Davy Crockett on the program, Disney Land, on our miniscule television set, where an Indian scooped a fish out of the water with his bare hands, I was hooked on learning to master this craft that I knew in my heart all Indians instinctively possessed.
I found a place where the water ran quiet, with a hole I knew held large trout. I waited until the long shadows crept over the flat bank and deep hole so as to be able to see the fat fish lying below the surface. I would get flat on my stomach and ever so slowly edge to the waterline. I was always rewarded with the sight of at least two or three fish resting from whatever fish did during the day.
As long as I moved slowly, and carefully, they remained still, like floating statues hanging in the water as though tethered to an invisible string. At first I tried to thrust my hand into the water and grab the startled fish, but the instant my hand broke the surface the fish vanished and I only succeeded to throw a hand full of water high in the air, to fall back and hit me square on the back.
It was embarrassing to try to explain to my brother how I had managed to soak my backside with water while staying dry everywhere else.
I idealized him and his laughter hurt deep. But still I tried to master this craft, after all, I knew it could be accomplished; didn’t I see it done on TV? And more importantly, on a Davy Crockett movie by Walt Disney.
Mr. Disney wouldn’t show us something that wasn’t true. Every kid in American at the time knew it to be one of the greater laws of mankind; Walt Disney didn’t lie!
So no matter if my brother didn’t have the faith I possessed, I wouldn’t let him stand in my way of a known truth.
Since I wasn’t Indian, although I’d heard rumors we had some Cherokee blood in us from way back, I just figured what an Indian could do naturally, I’d just have to learn by practice.
Unfortunately clothes were not abundant in our family and we didn’t have the luxury of a clothes dryer, so when my jacket got wet it stayed wet for some time.
By reason of necessity I’d have to find a way to keep my back dry while practicing this art that so eluded me. Answer. Don’t wear any clothes!
But since fall was upon us when I started my quest for this Indian craft I so desired, and I had not only an older brother with a mean disposition, but also an older sister who was just as cranky when they had the opportunity to scold me, I would have to find another location to work on my fish scooping project. A place where I had shelter from prying eyes!
I found the perfect spot I desired where “The Creek” ran through our neighbors property. It didn’t matter that his old house overlooked the spot I had chosen to continue my pursuit; after all, Earl was old. And we all knew that old people couldn’t see very far.
Earl had been a Marshal in the Old Southwest and had the tintypes and letters to prove it along with a big silver badge and a 45 Colt. He said he came north to get away from all the heat and dust.
At the time we lived next to him, he was well into his ninety’s, but still going strong with the help of his live-in housekeeper. I don’t remember her name, only that we called her the “Nice old lady that lived with Marshal Earl” raising eyebrows of those who didn’t know the real situation. This was after all, a long time ago.
It did however matter that I would be unseen from my house, avoiding the wrath of my older siblings. I wasn’t worried about the housekeeper, as she was almost as old as Earl, so I was confident I was invisible to her as well.
So, finding my chosen spot, I quickly looked around to make sure the old people were up at the house, I quickly disrobed placing my cloths in a neat pile far enough from The Creek so they wouldn’t get wet.
Underneath, I was as white as a ghost and after a few minutes in the shade was shaking like I’d seen one. And the ground, as I laid down to edge toward the water, was like ice! But I was young and my metabolism was going like it does when one is young, so I soon ignored the cold and got on with my project. I could almost see the fish pile up as I scooped them one after another from their world to mine.
After several tries and as much failure, I decided the fish were either too jumpy or I was doing something wrong. So how do I get the fish to slow down? Simple, I can’t, so it must be me doing something wrong.
After visualizing the scene from the movie over and over in my mind, I realized they had speeded up the scene of the Indian scooping fish so it wouldn’t take the whole hour allotted for the story.
So instead of thrusting my arm into the water like it was an arrow shot from a bow. I slipped my arm slowly down and toward the by now totally aware, and alarmed pray I’d hoped to yank into my world and later onto my plate.
When I dared move closer, all that was left was water. This was getting more serious than I had originally anticipated. Even the great patience of a nine-year-old boy couldn’t last forever. I would have to take drastic measures if I was to succeed. I would have to think!
It was about this time I happened to take a short cut home passing the back door of Marshal Earls’ house. I was cold, but I was dry, almost. Since I didn’t have a towel to dry my back with, my shirt still got a little wet, but at least my jacket no longer got soaked. I was safe, as long as I kept my coat on until my own body heat dried my shirt.
As I got closer, I caught sight of “The Old Lady That Lives With Marshal Earl” sitting on the back stoop smoking her daily cigar and having her “glass of fortitude.”
I once was visiting Earl and when the Old House Keeper put her drink down to go answer the phone, I decided I needed a little fortitude myself.
After taking a rather large swallow of “Fortitude” I decided a quick trip around the corner of the house was needed. Missed the corner and smacked into the whole house, or at least the side of it. Earl didn’t seem to mind me smacking his house if his laughter was any sign.
On this day as I approached she quickly picked up her drink and smiled, the cigar dropping ashes in her lap. Although she didn’t seem to notice as she was well fortified. “Well, it’s the little fisherman,” she said wryly.
“Hi.”
“Get anything?” she asked, her eyes twinkling and her nose glowing redder than usual.
“What do you mean?” I asked back, getting suspicious that her eyesight wasn’t as bad as I first thought.
“Well I don’t mean a cold, although you’ll sure as hel...eck’ll get one if you keep taking your clothes off on these cold days.”
I quickly glanced down toward my project hole by The Creek, and wondered how much she’d seen. I mean, you can’t always run to a rest room when you’re out working on an important undertaking such as I was doing, or trying to do as was the case so far. She read my mind.
“Aw, don’t worry, I had brothers, course haven’t seen im’ for fifty years or more, but I’ve seen it before.”
I heard what she was saying. Point was, she hadn’t seen mine before, and now I knew her eyesight was better than I first figured! I contemplated the run I’d have to make the next time nature called. But than again, if she’d already seen it, what did I have to hide. And it was an awful long way up to my house. That settled in my mind, I was ready to try again. Only this time I would go a different route. Hopefully, it would get me to the same destination.
“I’m only taking off my shirt.” I said, as I headed for the creek.
“Uh-huh.”
I walked on, deciding a wet jacket and a scolding from my brother and sister would be preferable to whatever the housekeeper was thinking. Funny, how what someone was thinking or at least what I thought they were thinking, bothered me more than a confrontation with my evil siblings.
The night before, I had laid in my bed wondering what I was doing wrong. For several hours I wondered, and when I finally fell asleep it was foremost on my mind. Three hours later I awoke with a start and the answer was mine!
All through school I pictured the solution to my problem. On the walk home I refined my technique. By the time I was home, I knew I could not fail. I hardly ate at dinner, not because I wasn’t hungry, there just wasn’t any food in any quantity to feed five starving kids. But I was soon to change that, as long as the others didn’t mind eating Rainbow Trout.
I helped with the dishes and when my older siblings were occupied with other matters, I snuck out for The Hole as I now came to call it. This time I would prevail; I knew it in my heart. No! I knew it in my soul!
I paid no attention when the housekeeper waved a greeting, so intent was I on my imminent success. Reaching “The Hole” I immediately set to work. I had decided to leave my jacket on, but it came off in a flash along with my shirt when I reached my fishing grounds. I than found some small stones, pebbles really, and placed them in a small pile so they would be close at hand.
I was a little early so The Hole was still in bright sunlight, a rarity for this place and time. But given the time of year I had little time to wait before the long shadows crept over The Hole and so did I. But this time before I did I took one of the pebbles and dropped it right in the middle of The Hole. The trout scattered and I made my move. Dropping flat to the ground I inched closer and closer, aware the trout hadn’t yet returned, but I had no illusions they wouldn’t come back.
When they did, I was in position and ready. My arm was in the water up to my shoulder, my hand resting just off the bottom like a platform waiting for my prey.
Now it was a race to see if my arm, which was fast turning blue from the cold, or the fish that were nowhere to be seen would win. I was thinking about withdrawing my arm when the first rainbow showed up, followed by several others. Much to my delight, the first fish came over to investigate this new addition to his world and settled right over my hand. I snapped my hand upward making sure that I followed through on the upswing.
The first time, the fish was brushed aside I was sure, as I didn’t feel it’s body in my hand. The next time would be different, but first I needed to let my arm warmed up. I figured at the rate of placing my hand and arm in the water and getting the fish out, when I mastered the technique, than letting my arm warm up so I had feeling again, and starting the whole process over gave me time to get maybe three fish before it got too dark to see. I still had enough time for a couple of fish, if they and my arm cooperated.
I turned to get my jacket when I noticed it was soaked. I might as well have kept wearing it. I leaned over and picked it up and then I saw it. The most beautiful Rainbow Trout I’d ever seen! I was a true Indian, at least I could fish like one.
I placed the flopping fish far back from the creek to keep it from falling back in. The excitement made me forget the cold and I quickly threw another pebble in the pool. The fish disappeared, my arm went in, my hand formed a platform and I was ready for the next Rainbow. Again, the fish came and I scooped and the trout flew out onto the ground and my arm went back in, came out again, the pebble went in, the fish left, my arm did it’s thing and within minutes I had my third trout out and waiting.
By this time it was getting really dark so I called it a day, I put my shirt and jacket back on and started to collect the fish. Where’d they go!
Only the wet ground attested to the success I now could not prove. I walked sullenly back to my house, hardly noticing Marshal Earl standing on his porch, a slight smile on his face, not saying a thing, just watching me walk by as I wondered where the heck my fish went!
The next day I was lucky enough to get started an hour earlier and now having experience, I made short work of getting two fish on the ground. I was getting set for my third fish when I chanced to look behind me. My fish were gone again, without a trace!
I was stunned. There is no way they could have flopped back in the water without me seeing them. So how did they leave? Or should I be asking who took them?
The one fact I knew for sure, was my fish didn’t get up and walk away by themselves. A suspect came immediately to mind. My older brother, he had to be the one that took my fish. Who else could it be? My sister might be suspect, but she wasn’t fast enough to get my fish, I was just too sharp for her to sneak my booty away without my catching her in the act.
But than again, my fish were gone into thin air and I, as sharp as I thought of myself, was baffled. More so when I looked up and saw my brother walk out the back door of our house, now visible as I had tried another place that looked promising on my way to the old hole. He waved and started toward me. If I hadn’t been standing up looking for my missing fish he never would have spotted me.
That’s all I need. Not only all my fish were gone again, but now I’d have to explain why I was not wearing my shirt and jacket. I thought hard and decided I’d do the right thing, I’d make up a story.
A story that was so off the wall it was bound to take my brother’s mind off my lack of clothes and on to something else. Like fishing. He liked to fish although he wasn’t very good at it. If he was, I wouldn’t have to be out here dripping wet, explaining myself.
“Now what are you up to?” He asked with that superior attitude of his. That was the trouble with older brothers, and my brother in particular, just because he was six years older than I was, he thought he knew more than me. It wouldn’t take long to prove him wrong. And I was about to do just that!
I waited until he was right in front of me.
“ I’m fish thinkin’.”
“Your what?!
“I’m fish thinkin’, you know like the Marshal taught us. Remember?”
I knew he wouldn’t, I was sure of it, cause the Marshal never taught us anything about fishing. But Larry was older and as he always told me he was much wiser and had a better memory than me or anyone else as he told it.
He started to say something than stopped himself short. I could almost see the gear in his brain shifting into high speed. “Huh, I’d forgotten for a moment, but I remember now. Never tried it though, I prefer a fishing pole, it gives the fish a sportin’ chance.” he lied.
“I know you do, but I’m not as good with a pole like you are, so I got to use fish thinkin’ instead of a pole.” I lied right back.
Little did he know I was settin’ the hook in him. If the trout took the bait as fast as my brother did I’d have given up on learning this lost art before I ever got started.
“Well, OK. I was just checking to make sure that’s what you were doing. Carry on,” he said as he turned and walked off toward the house.
“Right Sarge.” I snapped back, hoping he would miss the sarcasm in my voice. I needn’t have worried his brain was so busy trying to figure out when the Marshal had taught us how to fish think, he didn’t hear a word I said.
As soon as he was out of sight, I pitched a pebble in the pool and dropped down on my belly to try again. Soon another fish went flying, but this time much higher than I had planned. Fearing it would land back in the water I jumped to my feet to try to catch it, when out of the corner of my eye I saw my brother step from behind a bush and turn to face me, at the same instant I caught the trout in midair. His mouth opened in shock, but he said nothing. I dropped the fish behind me and pretending I didn’t see him I brought my hands up to my head and stuck my thumbs in my ears fanning my hands out like an elephant fanning the air.
I flapped my hands back and forth and muttered a long Ooooh, while looking down at the water. For a full minute I stood making this sound while flapping my hands back and forth. It was all I could do to keep from laughing as my brother eased back behind the bush from which he had come, only his head showing above it.
Finally, I casually looked in his direction pretending to see him for the first time since he had left a few minutes before.
“Geez Larry! I can’t concentrate with you watching me. You know what Marshal Earl said. It only works for one person at a time.”
“Sorry, I was just checkin’ to make sure you was doing it right.”
I picked up the fish and held it up so he could see it clearly. Glad that it too hadn’t disappeared like the others. Larry stared, turned around and walked off toward our house. Got him! But I still didn’t know what happened to the other fish. But at least I had one to show for my efforts, and knowing my brother would now be watching my every move so as to learn my secret of Fish Thinkin’, I was forced to put my shirt and jacket back on and head for home.
Larry was unusually quiet that night and I never offered him any conversation, acting like I was too tired to talk. My sister cooked the trout, we ate it, all the time my brother remained silent. I was King!
Only trouble was, I didn’t dare do any scooping until things died down. It wasn’t hard to figure Larry would be like my shadow any time I started for The Creek. When your big brother can do everything better than you as my brother did, it wasn’t often you got the upper hand. Now that I had it, I wasn’t going to let go without a fight.
For the next several days Larry hinted that I should go Fish Thinkin’ but I always made an excuse. Finally he gave up, or so I thought. Still every time I started for The Creek he always mysteriously appeared. It got so I thought I’d never get to The Creek again. Finally there came the day when he had other things to do and I was left alone to my own devices. I headed for The Creek. Stopping only to make sure Larry was not following me. I even made it a point to make sure my older sister was occupied before sneaking out to scoop more fish out of the pool.
To make myself less noticeable to my siblings, I took the path that lead across the back of Earl The Marshals place. As I approached his back porch I heard his voice from above. “Hold up there little fisherman.” I stopped, hoping his housekeeper wasn’t around. He read my mind. “Etta is gone to town for some grub and I was just thinkin’ I haven’t seen you down at the fishin’ hole for a few days. Get tired of feedin’ the Raccoons?” he asked with a laugh.
“I ain’t been feedin’ no Raccoons.” I protested. The old Marshal laughed again “Where do you think those Rainbows been gittin’ to?” I was startled. It seems everyone’s eyesight was better than I thought.
“I just figured they got back to the water when I was busy scooping more out.” Even as I said it I knew it sounded lame. So it was Raccoons been taking my trout.
“So you call it Scoopin’ do you? Where in tar nation did you learn that trick?”
“I saw it on Disney Land. An Indian in a Davy Crockett movie was doin’ it, so I figured I could too.”
“It’s the most amazing thing I ever saw,” said the old Marshal. I was proud.
“Didn’t think a Raccoon would come out in daylight to steal a fish. Guess I’ve been pretty stupid not seeing one in broad daylight.” I said back.
“Not seeing two of them,” he corrected “But that doesn’t mean your stupid. Anybody that can figure out how to scoop fish can’t be very dumb. Amazing! Just amazing!”
If my chest got any bigger I’d pop my buttons for sure, but it sure felt good to hear somebody say you could do amazing things. I was taking it all in.
“Course you better keep an eye out fer the cougar. He’s been gettin’ closer every time you’re down there. Might be huntin’ those Coons, but he might be huntin’ you too. So keep an eye out.”
I assured him I would, but being nine years old I felt invincible. And besides, if the cougar got those fish stealin’ Raccoons all the better for me. I thanked him for the advice and trotted down to the pool to scoop some more fish, picking up a few pebbles on the way. Soon, I had a couple of Rainbows out of the water and was working on more, making sure to look over my shoulder every few seconds in case the Raccoons returned.
I had five fish laid out in a row and was going after the sixth when I was startled by a rifle shot from The Marshals porch, at the same instant a snarl behind me froze me to the ground in fear. Another shot rang out and I hugged the ground even tighter. Opening my eyes, I saw The Marshal coming down the trail, rifle in hand.
“Little fisherman, I told you to watch for that cat!” It was the first time I’d ever saw The Marshal upset. Later, I learned he wasn’t mad, just darn worried. Getting up on shaky legs I slowly turned around. Less than ten feet away was the biggest cougar I’d ever seen in my life. Fact was, it was the only cougar I’d seen in my life, and it had been hunting me!
I stood as tall as I could, which wasn’t much considering I wasn’t four feet tall yet. “I thought you said a pair of Raccoons was taking my fish.” I asked trying not to show that I was scared.
“They was, little fisherman, but they got eaten’ by the cougar and evidently he was still hungry, and I don’t think it was your fish he was after. You’re lucky I was here to protect you,” he said in a low voice. I glanced over and saw my brother running down the hill towards us.
“You won’t tell my brother how I caught the fish will you Marshal?”
“Doesn’t he know?”
“Naw, I told him a story about thinkin’ the fish out of the water, said you taught us both. He thinks he forgot about you tellin us.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll go along with it, I like a good joke as much as the next man.”
Larry ran up gasping for air. He wasn’t used to running that far. When he saw the big cat his eyes got big and he searched for the right words but couldn’t seem to find them. Finally he spoke in a voice full of excitement.
“How’d that cougar get here?”
I started to smart off that it walked here when Earl cut me off.
“Me an your brother baited it so I could get a shot at it.”
“Where’s the bait?” Larry asked, looking around and seeing nothing.
“Right in front of you.” The old Marshal said.
“Where?” Larry asked again. He was really dumb sometimes.
“The little fisherman was the bait.” Earl exclaimed calmly.
Larry looked at me, than back at the old Marshal, than back at me. We both had faces made of stone.
“You used my little brother as bait? And then shot the cougar when he tried to get him? And he wasn’t scared?” Larry asked in one long breath.
“Yes. Yes. And Yes.” The Marshal answered back. “In fact, it was the Little Fisherman’s idea.” Earl fibbed.
You could almost see the gear in Larry’s brain start spinning, his brain didn’t have more than one gear, it was plain to see that fact when you saw some of the dumb things he did. Like when he stole the horse that belonged to the Sheriff of King County, not just once, but several times. But that’s another story.
“My little brother thought up a plan to get the cougar?” Larry’s questions were getting redundant. “Why? I didn’t even know there was a cougar around here.”
“Your little brother did, and was afraid it might try to eat Niki and Bean.” My half brother and sister were living with us at the time, but they seldom left the front yard. A fact that escaped Larry for the moment. Earl went on. “Your brother came to me and said he had a plan for me to get the cougar. Course he didn’t want you to know for fear you’d want to be the bait and take all the chances.
“He said every time he went down to start thinkin’ some fish out of the water this big old cat would come a creepin’ through the brush trying to get his fish. He would have to throw some fish to the cat to keep from getting ate by the cougar himself. So we hatched out a plan for him to think some fish out and when the cat came around he’d hit the ground and I’d shoot the cat. Worked like magic.”
Larry was awestruck.
“Your darn right I’d have taken my brothers place! I’m his big brother and it’s my place to risk my life to protect my brothers and sister from getting eaten.”
“Well.” The old Marshal said, rubbing his chin in deep thought “there is this big old black bear that hangs around here a couple times a week. We tried gettin’ it the same way but the Little Fisherman’s just to small for it to see him when he’s standing here by the creek. You know they don’t have real good eyesight. But if you were to be the bait instead, I’m sure you’re big enough to be seen. And another thing, this here cat is a male. He’s sure to have a mate that’ll come looking for him anytime now.” Earl looked around toward the woods for effect. Larry took the bait.
“Just what time does he come around?” He asked, growing more nervous by the minute. Earl pretended not to hear him while picking up a stick. Walking toward the dead mountain lion, he poked the cougar in the side, than used the stick to open the big cat’s mouth exposing his rather large set of teeth.
“Mister Earl, what time does this bear come round do you think?”
Earl shot another look toward the woods, than spoke slowly and softly, making Larry strain to hear each word. Earl started off with a sure fire attention getter. “Did you hear that?!” He asked.
“What?” Whispered Larry.
“The noise in the trees over there. Must be the bear coming round already. Or maybe the mate to this here cat. Probably the cat, the bear usually doesn’t come round tell just before dark.” Both Earl and I had been looking to the trees in the distance. We turned to see the expression on Larry’s face. Trouble was, there wasn’t any expression to see. Larry was already half way back to the house on a dead run. We waited for him to disappear thru the door before we both broke out laughing.
“I’ll skin this cat and make a rug for you.” The old Marshal smiled.
“Really?” was all I could think to say. I was proud! And best of all, I’d pulled one over on my big brother. Somehow, the day seemed more alive than I’d ever remembered it in all of my nine years. Later all Larry had to say in his defense was that he had to use the bathroom real bad, and that’s why he ran off. I went along with it, after all, he was my big brother.
Several days later, early in the morning, The Marshal came knocking at my door. When I answered he said “come with me quick!” He led me around the corner and across the path to his house. Halfway there he stopped and stepped into the bushes overlooking The Creek. “Look there.” he pointed. Larry was down at my spot on the creek bank pulling his ears and making the darndest faces I’d ever seen. Earl the old Marshal was quick to explain.
“He’s trying to think up some fish.”
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