Wayne in BC
New member
Sometime in July/72............
"Satisfaction" was playing on the radio in Wes's 4x4 that early afternoon and we were singing along with gusto while heading for a remote fishing spot well into the mountains of west central Alberta when the signal faded. That was ok, it would be a fine day of fly fishing for wild Cutthroat trout. After 40 miles of highway then 30 miles of rough gravel/rock/clay road and now only a few more miles of slow slugging on the overgrown and rough 4x4 trail, then paradise!
We don't need no stinkin' radio now
..........but the last song would prove to be prophetic.
Although we were in where few people ever got to, everybody knows that the fishing is better just a bit further up. This was the Ram River, a gorgeous and pristine trout stream, in those days known only to a few of the more adventurous outdoorsmen, mostly locals, "locals" meaning Albertans not more than a hundred miles away
On a day such as this we would catch 50 or more trout each, some in the 3 lb class and nearly all carefully released. Late in the day a few each would be iced for a family dinner the next day.
It was all there, a beautiful place smelling of all the different trees, wild flowers, and fireweed. Beaver dams on a side creek with gin clear water and a tree Martin hunting Squirrels causing a horrible racket amongst the tree rats. Moose, Elk, Deer seen often, berry bushes thick and laden on the canyon sides, now and then a fat Black bear pigging out on the fruit. Now and then those Bears would follow us hoping to scare us off our catch of fish like they did with city types downriver. Thus our hips were heavy with large caliber guns on these trips. We did not bother the Bears and enjoyed watching them but when a poor dumb one that had been ruined by fools feeding it around a campground got pushy there would be a warning shot which nearly always sent it packing. Occasionally a particularly aggressive one would push the limit, (twice in about 5 years) and he would pay the ultimate price.
This came about from us being terrorized by a big chocolate booger one weekend who ripped open the cooler and took our catch while we ranted from afar with only flyrods for teeth.
Lets not fish first and go way up today.....good plan i said, find some bigguns! Rough walking on boulders and criss crossing a swift river in jeans and sneakers was our forte, young and tough dumb, we thrived on it, covering more than a mile before we set up our rods and began casting to the naive and willing fish. Wes had picked a large pool to set up and was doing well as i leapfrogged ahead to the next pool. Hopping from rock to rock, wading and climbing around rock outcroppings i arrived at my chosen pool with a stitch in my side so elected to set a while till it went away. I think most of us have had that happen.
I found a softer rock and parked my butt to wait it out but it seemed to be getting way worse, odd i thought, usually it goes away in a few minutes. 5 minutes later it was worse, a painful dull hurt just under my short ribs and i lay down on a patch of sand.
Wes came along about 10 minutes later, saw me and said, being lazy are we? How's the fishing here? I told him i had a stitch and to go ahead and fish the hole, which he did, saying dontcha hate those stitches? Five minutes later i was starting to moan! The pain was coming in waves and Wes, hearing me, trotted over looking concerned to ask what was going on? I explained that the pain was real rough and i did not know why. After some questions he said, jeepers buddy, do you still have your appendix? Yes i said, uh oh he said, i think this could be a problem.........
We started to head back at Wes's urging, i did not want to mess up the trip and was protesting that i would be ok in a while. He said to hell with the trip! You are going back! Giving in, i started hobbling along but within a few minutes was hurting so bad that i was vomiting and Wes was really worried as he half carried me across the rocks. That was a nightmare trip back to the truck that took a long time. We both said nothing at the time but both doubted that i would get home alive, sure that my appendix had burst and it would be too late. No cell phone or helicopter rescues in those days.
The trip out after in the 4x4 was the next nightmare. I remember the jolting truck and the onslaught of all encompasing pain it brought with each lurch until we got to the highway. The town of Rocky Mountain House was 30 miles away now on good road as it got dark and i remember being surprised that i had made it that far but was mostly afraid i might live to bear more of the pain. The hospital was closed when we got there and regardless of Wes's ranting we were sent to a clinic across town where a local doctor was on night duty.
Wes drug me into the doctors office, me still soaking wet, covered with vomit, moaning and shaking. I remember the doc ignoring us as he dealt with an Indian women who was drunk and complaining of a sore arm, then my buddy, although a very nice guy, showed a temper! He read the riot act to the doc, growling menacingly that he had not dragged his dying buddy with appendicitis out of the bush to have him ignored! The doc who had been more observant than we thought, walked to a cabinet and removed a vial, handed it to me and said...give me a urine sample. My response was.....moan....doc i wished to hell i could! Yep he said, you got a kidney stone. Whatinna hell is that i said? Will it kill me? Nope but you will be hurting till it passes and if it doesn't we got to cut you open and pull it out.
So, any other options said me. He said i will give you some Demerol, i said, no not that stuff i had it before and it makes my head stupid and i still hurt! Well, he said, i can't give you any morphine so you will have to live with it. AZZHOLE i blurted! Shhhhsh said Wes, give it to him doc and we are on our way. Home finally at 1 am and the Demerol barely helping, i phoned my mother and spilled my soul...help me Mom!
After a gush of sympathy she remarked that her Dad had problems with them also and i should drink lots of liquid and hope for the best, same as the doc said
I was in a blue fugue of pain and feeling mighty sorry for myself worrying about getting cut open and or dealing with the monstrous pain.
At 6 am i was at the local hospital and getting morphine, i passed the evil thing that afternoon and stayed "stone free" for a couple years. Another almost funny story the next time around, maybe to you all, but not so much to me may be coming if you like
I never was big on the "STONES" after that.........here is why they are so hard to pass
[attachment 99777 kidneystones.jpg]
"Satisfaction" was playing on the radio in Wes's 4x4 that early afternoon and we were singing along with gusto while heading for a remote fishing spot well into the mountains of west central Alberta when the signal faded. That was ok, it would be a fine day of fly fishing for wild Cutthroat trout. After 40 miles of highway then 30 miles of rough gravel/rock/clay road and now only a few more miles of slow slugging on the overgrown and rough 4x4 trail, then paradise!
We don't need no stinkin' radio now
..........but the last song would prove to be prophetic.Although we were in where few people ever got to, everybody knows that the fishing is better just a bit further up. This was the Ram River, a gorgeous and pristine trout stream, in those days known only to a few of the more adventurous outdoorsmen, mostly locals, "locals" meaning Albertans not more than a hundred miles away
On a day such as this we would catch 50 or more trout each, some in the 3 lb class and nearly all carefully released. Late in the day a few each would be iced for a family dinner the next day. It was all there, a beautiful place smelling of all the different trees, wild flowers, and fireweed. Beaver dams on a side creek with gin clear water and a tree Martin hunting Squirrels causing a horrible racket amongst the tree rats. Moose, Elk, Deer seen often, berry bushes thick and laden on the canyon sides, now and then a fat Black bear pigging out on the fruit. Now and then those Bears would follow us hoping to scare us off our catch of fish like they did with city types downriver. Thus our hips were heavy with large caliber guns on these trips. We did not bother the Bears and enjoyed watching them but when a poor dumb one that had been ruined by fools feeding it around a campground got pushy there would be a warning shot which nearly always sent it packing. Occasionally a particularly aggressive one would push the limit, (twice in about 5 years) and he would pay the ultimate price.
This came about from us being terrorized by a big chocolate booger one weekend who ripped open the cooler and took our catch while we ranted from afar with only flyrods for teeth.
Lets not fish first and go way up today.....good plan i said, find some bigguns! Rough walking on boulders and criss crossing a swift river in jeans and sneakers was our forte, young and tough dumb, we thrived on it, covering more than a mile before we set up our rods and began casting to the naive and willing fish. Wes had picked a large pool to set up and was doing well as i leapfrogged ahead to the next pool. Hopping from rock to rock, wading and climbing around rock outcroppings i arrived at my chosen pool with a stitch in my side so elected to set a while till it went away. I think most of us have had that happen.
I found a softer rock and parked my butt to wait it out but it seemed to be getting way worse, odd i thought, usually it goes away in a few minutes. 5 minutes later it was worse, a painful dull hurt just under my short ribs and i lay down on a patch of sand.
Wes came along about 10 minutes later, saw me and said, being lazy are we? How's the fishing here? I told him i had a stitch and to go ahead and fish the hole, which he did, saying dontcha hate those stitches? Five minutes later i was starting to moan! The pain was coming in waves and Wes, hearing me, trotted over looking concerned to ask what was going on? I explained that the pain was real rough and i did not know why. After some questions he said, jeepers buddy, do you still have your appendix? Yes i said, uh oh he said, i think this could be a problem.........
We started to head back at Wes's urging, i did not want to mess up the trip and was protesting that i would be ok in a while. He said to hell with the trip! You are going back! Giving in, i started hobbling along but within a few minutes was hurting so bad that i was vomiting and Wes was really worried as he half carried me across the rocks. That was a nightmare trip back to the truck that took a long time. We both said nothing at the time but both doubted that i would get home alive, sure that my appendix had burst and it would be too late. No cell phone or helicopter rescues in those days.
The trip out after in the 4x4 was the next nightmare. I remember the jolting truck and the onslaught of all encompasing pain it brought with each lurch until we got to the highway. The town of Rocky Mountain House was 30 miles away now on good road as it got dark and i remember being surprised that i had made it that far but was mostly afraid i might live to bear more of the pain. The hospital was closed when we got there and regardless of Wes's ranting we were sent to a clinic across town where a local doctor was on night duty.
Wes drug me into the doctors office, me still soaking wet, covered with vomit, moaning and shaking. I remember the doc ignoring us as he dealt with an Indian women who was drunk and complaining of a sore arm, then my buddy, although a very nice guy, showed a temper! He read the riot act to the doc, growling menacingly that he had not dragged his dying buddy with appendicitis out of the bush to have him ignored! The doc who had been more observant than we thought, walked to a cabinet and removed a vial, handed it to me and said...give me a urine sample. My response was.....moan....doc i wished to hell i could! Yep he said, you got a kidney stone. Whatinna hell is that i said? Will it kill me? Nope but you will be hurting till it passes and if it doesn't we got to cut you open and pull it out.
So, any other options said me. He said i will give you some Demerol, i said, no not that stuff i had it before and it makes my head stupid and i still hurt! Well, he said, i can't give you any morphine so you will have to live with it. AZZHOLE i blurted! Shhhhsh said Wes, give it to him doc and we are on our way. Home finally at 1 am and the Demerol barely helping, i phoned my mother and spilled my soul...help me Mom!
After a gush of sympathy she remarked that her Dad had problems with them also and i should drink lots of liquid and hope for the best, same as the doc said
I was in a blue fugue of pain and feeling mighty sorry for myself worrying about getting cut open and or dealing with the monstrous pain. At 6 am i was at the local hospital and getting morphine, i passed the evil thing that afternoon and stayed "stone free" for a couple years. Another almost funny story the next time around, maybe to you all, but not so much to me may be coming if you like
I never was big on the "STONES" after that.........here is why they are so hard to pass
[attachment 99777 kidneystones.jpg]
