I was managing a small car rental company in Anchorage, and had uncharacteristically given one of my employees the day off. This meant that I’d be taken away from my normal duties to periodically handle the customers coming through the door.
One young man was returning his rental car and I stepped forward with the almost scripted greeting. “How was your trip?”
"This has to be the worst vacation I’ve ever had!” He replied.
Then he told me how he comes to Alaska every year to fish the Russian River and has always enjoyed himself “until now!”
His story began as soon as he had reached the river. Hiking down the trail, he fell. Breaking his fly pole and tearing a hole in his neoprene waders. Though on a limited time budget, he was now obligated to drive the 150 miles or so back to Anchorage to purchase new gear.
So it was, 300 miles later, and $600.00 lighter in the wallet, he found himself back on the bank of Alaska’s premier sockeye salmon stream ready to fish.
Working his way over a log jam, he could see hundreds of salmon in the pool ahead. While quietly complimenting himself on finding this mother load of fish, and forgetting his previous angst, he moved into position…..and then fell in the river!
His neoprenes filled with water as he struggled to jettison everything on his person that might keep him from getting back on land. Yes, including a brand new $600.00 fly pole.
The worst thing though,…” he said, “Is that I had to take off my shoulder bag. It didn’t really have anything of value in it, except those things given to me by my grandfather. I could care less about the fishing gear, but the flies my Grandpa tied, and an old Leatherman kind of tool can never be replaced.”
It was at this point that I asked another employee to take over at the counter so I could give the beat up fisherman a ride back to his friend’s home on the other side of town. And, it was my turn to tell a story.
Two days earlier I had been fishing up on the Russian. The fishing was pretty good as I headed upstream away from the crowds that flock to the confluence with the Kenai River.
I had gotten off to a late start on the stream, so it was about 10:00 – 11:00 that night before I had my 3 fish limit filleted and in my backpack. This also happens to be the hour in which the lone fisherman starts to consider what a bear might think of him, alone, smelling like fish, and walking through his backyard.
I cut my line, tied my hip waders onto my backpack, and started back down the trail.
Somewhere along the way I spotted a green nylon bag floating past me out in the current. Had I not cut my line, I could have casted for it. And, while my instincts told me to shrug it off, my curiosity as to its contents overwhelmed me. What if there was something valuable in it? Someone’s wallet, without ID and stuffed with thousands of dollars!!??
I gave chase.
It should be said that running down a trail, smelling like fish, through the backyard of the bears is vastly less intelligent than walking. But, when you’re in pursuit of millions of dollars, intelligence is the last thing you want hindering you.
Something else that I’d like not to have hinder me was an unbalanced backpack loaded with fish and with hip waders swinging back and forth that kept me in constant danger of falling off of the trail and into the river.
At every bend in the river, I’d lie in wait for the billion dollar bag to come floating into sight. Watching it float by out in the deep, fast current, I’d sprint off to the next possible landing area with my boots trying to topple me into the river.
After about two miles of this cat and mouse, I was finally at a place where I knew the river to be shallow enough for me to get out into the current. I tossed my fishing pole, and backpack full of fillets into some tall grass (hoping not to find a bear when I returned for them) and sprinted down to the shallow bend.
Wading out into the middle of the stream, I positioned myself for the bag which had just come into view again.
It was about to pass me again, this time for good, when I reached out my arm and snagged it into my clutches. “AHA!” I thought. Then my foot slipped and the current swept me downstream…..face down, facing the wrong direction, and sucking in water. But, even knowing that I was about to die, nothing was going to make me let loose of the prize I had worked so hard for. On the contrary, when they fished me out of the river, I wanted my death grip on the bag to be a testament to its importance.
The odd thing about facing death is the thoughts that cross the mind. You’d think it would be enough just to recognize your fate, but, in my last moments, I also became aware of something I had never considered. The crystal clear water of the Russian River tastes like rotting salmon! Not enough to die, but did it have to taste so awful!?
Luckily, my foot caught on another rock and I was able to crawl slowly through the shallows and back up onto the bank.
As I dispensed 4 gallons of water and a salmon carcass from my lungs, I started to daydream about my catch. It had to be filled with thousands of traveler’s checks, the keys to a Ferrari, and perhaps a winning lottery ticket.
Unzipping the bag, I found a small collection of flies, and an antiquated Leatherman-type tool.
I was pulling into my driveway (having taken a detour) as I finished telling my customer this story. I ran inside and then returned with a bag full of sentimental value for him. Seeing the importance of these few items to him, I doubt it would have meant anymore to me had I found the bag full of treasures….. Okay, that’s a lie. I’ll admit I’d have rather found it full of $1,000.00 bills. Still, there is a great deal of satisfaction that comes when you make another’s day.
If you consider that there were 17 car rental companies in Anchorage, and that I was so rarely going to be working the front counter, and, that even with that, the agency was open 20 hours per day, the odds have to be astronomical that this customer would have rented from us, and shown up at an hour when I was there to check him in.
