Fabric

Mending life’s losses…

Einstein described the universe in terms of a fabric and, indeed, life can be described, metaphorically, as a fabric as well. Some folks seem to be made of a stronger fabric than others; a material not easily torn.

Events have me wondering, “Once torn, are tougher material (people) more difficult to repair?” And, once mended, are we strengthened by the many of life’s trials? Some seem to be, while others add them like stones to be carried through life’s entirety.

Larry Barrett was tall and rangy; how one would imagine Ichabod Crane by description. At times obsessive, Larry had a wealth of enjoyable attributes; among them his infectious laughter. He was universally liked, especially by children, yet, never having any of his own. Choosing rather, to fill that void with his German wire-haired pointers.

We shared the enjoyment of many sporting past-times; the greatest among them being basketball. Indeed, it was basketball that first introduced us. Larry excelled at reading the water and catching fish. We spent many hours in or on various rivers discussing the remedies to life’s problems – as most outdoorsmen do, I believe.

Larry always had boats, one of his obsessions was the never-ending search for the “perfect” boat. On board, everything had a place and a certain way about it. There was the correct manner in throwing an anchor and there was a correct manner in its retrieval and storage. In fact, everything had its place and was always kept there. Variables in procedure could not exist on his boat! (There remains something tragically prophetic in that.)

It was aboard the boat-of-the-moment that we shared my first fishing trip for Idaho’s largest fish species, Acipenser transmontanus – the sturgeon beyond the mountains. More commonly known as the white sturgeon. I had never seen one before and any description of the size of sturgeon pale to the experience of your first actual encounter. This experience was greatly enhanced by the manner in which I first encountered this creature of a by-gone age.

There are many hours of waiting that generally proceeds a few seemingly meaningless tugs on the line. Larry recognized the subtle bow of the rod’s tip and, after a firm set of the hook, began struggling to gain yards of line lost to his icthyian challenger! Larry was giggling like an adolescent rascal toilet-papering a house. Madly reeling, he yelled, “It’s going to jump!” Jump? Jump what?! How can a fish that weights nearly 200 pounds jump anything? Never the less, it was obviously headed right for the boat!

Wanting a glimpse at this mythic water creature, I leaned over the gunnel for a closer view. While Larry giggled manically and busily collected line on the reel, I leaned further over the side. I cupped my hands around my eyes to block the brilliant sunlight; squinting intently into the water’s depths. It was about the time that I thought I saw something when that something left the water mere feet away!

Dark and tiny, emotionless, eyes staring me directly in the face, it towered momentarily above me! The modest sized seven-foot white sturgeon, breeched like the fabled Moby Dick then fell backward! Its dull metal grey form struck the river’s surface with a thunderous sound! The shimmering spray of water splashed against the hull and into the boat! Surprisingly, I had remained completely dry. For, by that time, I had stumbled backwards and nearly over the opposite side!

At the time of our first meeting, and a score of years beyond, sturgeon and steelhead were Larry’s top fishing prize. As a fisheries biologist, he maintained that there was no such thing as “trash fish”, that there was value to all native fish. Like me, Larry released almost all the fish he caught. It was not in self-righteous, fish-snobbery; it mattered not if others kept their legal limits. No, this allowed us to enjoy a full-day’s fishing as we never reach our limit of fish before we reach our limit of pleasure in catching them!

This brings to mind one cold December morning back in 1995. The catch-and-keep season had been closed for steelhead. Many locals at that time did not understand the point in catching a fish that they could not reduce to a cooler. We basically had the Clearwater River to ourselves.

The crew, consisting of Jeff Earhart, Larry and myself, caught several steelhead throughout the day. At times there were two fishermen, even three, battling fish at the same time! The number growing with the passing years, it is reasonable to say that between 15 and 20 steelhead were caught that day! A day that we continued to re-lived at every opportunity.

Larry enjoyed sharing his experience and expertise to “newbies”. A term he often used, these were generally youngsters that had yet to experience something that Larry could share. He introduced several of my children to the mighty sturgeon and two, my older son, Makary, and middle daughter, Ciera, to flying.

Larry counted piloting his own aircraft among his many accomplishments. He had a healthy respect for the dangers of flying. His relationship with aircraft was a double-edged sword, by his own admission. At times, there was a deep, almost primal, fear of flying. He seemed to be aware of his attempt at exercising his own demons. I believe the effect was multiplied when someone else was piloting an aircraft.

August 31st, 2010 was another day in weeks of hot, breathless, days. In other words, typical summer weather in the valley. Another fall semester had begun and we were, perhaps, in the second week of classes. With that brought new students with new names to learn. Lectures with new material just beginning to be processed. It’s a hectic time that keeps me away from my desk. That day I happened to be near my office when the phone rang.

A mutual friend, Russ Davis, was on the other end of the line and relayed the terrible news - Larry was in a helicopter crash. The salmon redd survey project was tragically terminated when the helicopter lost control shortly after take-off from Kamiah, ID. A seemingly harmless metal clip-board was the determined cause of the crash. Carelessly stowed away, it dislodged, somehow was sucked into the vortex of the navigating rotor blades, and caused enough damage as to render the ship uncontrollable.

The craft crashed in a residential area; narrowly missing homes, nearby schools and a day care facility. It is believed that heroic efforts by the pilot prevented further catastrophe on the ground. Of the three onboard, Larry was the only passenger to make it to an ambulance. He would lose his battle for life in transit.

Weeks later, there was a memorial and the following year Larry’s ashes were scattered along a meaningful stretch of the Snake River. Everything that was physically Larry had to be released. Not forgotten, we would take with us wonderful memories, it is the grief that must be left behind.

Tragedies and the accompanying grief can rip gaping holes in the fabric of our lives. Grief can weaken or, taken to the extreme, completely unravel life’s fabric. The tragedy cannot be undone, those that remain must repair torn lives with fond memories. With the good that was Larry.