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Kountry Life Memories

Fishin Peabody Creek Canyon
On a no school day, Andy and I would take off down to Peabody Creek for some trout fishing. Andy was my buddydog, a black, cocker spaniel mix and I was a skinny, ten. Packed with hooked handlines & balonie/cheese sammiches. We'd walk the mile or so of gravel road thru the old neighborhood(@ 1 house every 2 acres)to the fir woods trail to the canyon. The switchback down has been upgraded since then by the BSA troop. It was pretty rough going in 1967. A real slip-n-slide thru wet devilclub, longgrass and mud after a rain. At the bottom we'd follow a deertrail upstream to the 'fort,' a pileup of huge redwood logs from a flashflood long before I was born. The creek was penned up, making two deep, sand bottom fishing holes. I like the one inside the fort best. The logs formed a room with a partial roof. Trout loved to hide in there. You could lay back and stare up at the patch of blue sky and clouds or sit shady and dangle your feet in the water. The pool was nice and cold even on the hottest of days. Andy was never a barker, so it was peaceful, just the burbling of creek falling over the logs and rocks. Was fishing maybe an hour or so (1 keeper)when the crack of a stepped-on treebranch perked up dogears and the hair on the back of my neck. (to be continued...)

G. Patrick Timm, from wa, entered 2003-03-15



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