"Happy" Happy Camp memories...

So, filtering through the difficult emotional aspects of growing up I realize now even more than I did as a kid that I had it pretty dang good! Along with the beautiful creek with swimming and fishing we had the amazing mountains full of trees right out our back door.

I have an additional memory about swimming in Indian Creek. I must have done something to make my little brother Roy frustrated with me because he decided it would be a good idea to throw rocks at me from the cliff above while I was swimming in the hole just up from our house. I would see one coming and dive deep to avoid taking a direct hit. His bad aim made it so that many of his deployments missed their mark. However, he caught on after awhile and timed my resurfacing. His good aim made it so that he made a direct hit. If you sit behind me you can easily pick out the scar due to a void in hair on my head (no, not the front fading forehead location... I said from behind!). One of the 6 times I have had stitches.

Speaking of my little brother. We had some incredible memories. We both loved to fish. Our setting nurtured and fed this desire. We would catch grasshoppers or overturn rocks to find rock worms (periwinkles) to drive the fish crazy. One time we were fishing one of our favorite holes just below our home and we were having our typical success. A couple of city slickers worked their way up from the river. The river was very well known for steelhead fishing. However, after flying their personal plane up from southern California they had struck out for 2 days and decided to fish Indian Creek. They noticed us and decided to show proper distance respect. They stayed below us for quite awhile until I am sure they finally caved due to sheer curiousity. At the time we were two toe-headed (blonde) kids 10 and 12 wearing cut off jeans and going shirtless to reveal our ripped and tan bodies. The one guy finally said, "how are you guys catching so many fish?" You see, they explained that they had flown in for a weekend of fishing but neither of them had caught one fish. As they stood down creek watching Roy and I catching fish after fish they were totally confused. So, we showed them our methods and before long they were both catching fish also. We guided them up and down the creek for some time. They were so appreciative that they asked if we wanted to go up in their plane for a ride. BOY, DID WE!!! But, they said that we needed to have our parents permission first. So, after successful begging dad escorted us up the hill to the little airport strip. That flight was the scariest and most amazing thing I had ever done. I think it is safe to say we were the only boys in our school that had been up in a plane to view our amazing town from the heavens! Great memory.

As boys the best thing you could possibly ask for growing up is to have a beautiful creek and never-ending forest out your back door. We played war games in the forest. I highly suggest you try it some day. We built crude log cabin forts inside the forest. I am sure some of them are still in existence looking like someones past covered up by forest overgrowth. Hey, it is. We set traps in the hills for unfortunate animals and birds. We would spend hours taking turns chopping away at the tallest tree we could find (wrong of us and this should not be duplicated) until finally it would come crashing down. The overwhelming force and sound that is created by such a feat is overwhelming! The creaking sound as it falls and the crashing sound as it makes contact with other trees and ultimately the ground is very distinct, unique and exhilarating! We had the best snow sledding hillsides you could ask for all around us.

My best friend was Eric Hokanson. His family lived 7 miles down river. They lived in an A framed home nestled into the side of the mountain. You would recognize the setting by going into Island Park or similar places where people go to vacation. They lived like others recreate. I loved to go to their home. Many times Eric and I would float the river on tubes from my house to his. We would live in the mountains all weekend and then come into town with his family for church. They were Catholic and I loved to go with them to their services and pray with them during their family night time prayers. Truly good people and I will always have a fond spot in my heart for them. Eric and I were lucky to live through our childhood. Two of our favorite things to do were to slide down a very steep rock slide near his house because the loose material would literally act as a sled once you got it moving. At the bottom of it you would fall off the edge and land in the pile of loose material at the bottom. One time we got the dumb idea that it would be fun to see if we could stand at the top of the slide and throw rocks at the occassional car that came by. As if the driver wouldn't be someone local and the ability to know that right near the slide was the Hokanson home. Duh. Well, I don't remember who hit the car, Eric or I, but I do remember the screeching sound of their tires as they stopped and the fear that immediately set in. We ran into the trees so fast and so far that even if they tried to find us there was no way! Nothing ever came of it. Whew. Our other favorite thing was to hang out at the county dump a few miles from his home. Not only were there never ending treasures to be discovered but there were bears! The bears loved to ignore us and go about their garbage eating. So, we had to acually motivate them to chase us. We found that Eric's pellet gun worked most efficient. Our game plan was to have enough distance to run and get on top of the loader or other equipment that sat dormant over the weekend. We would crawl up on top and the bears would come right up to the machine and even sometimes stand up on their hind legs sniffing at us. Talk about exciting! I don't know what stunk worse, the dump or the bears. We found 2 "big wheels" that had been thrown out. One had a cracked rear tire and the other had a pedal missing. So, they were still in good enough of condition to coast them down the dump road (a steep winding road). We literally wore the wheels off from them and made them more worthy of their fate of being thrown away as unusable items. For those who don't know, a "big wheel" was a plastic trike with the front wheel skinny and very large with a seat positioned inches off the ground with two small but wide tires on the back. Probably ideal for a 4-9 year old but very suitable to a 13 year old boy wanting a fast ride down a windy road (there's that word again). I looked it up and this is the proper spelling and use of it.

I miss my friend Eric and the memories we had together. Those days are long gone but the memories are eternal.