Blue Hole
Blue Hole
Thom Cantrall
Boonville is a small city with a history … and my family is an important part of that history. It is in a valley along Anderson Creek, about a hundred miles north of San Francisco in the Coastal Range.
My grandfather's grandfather, JB Sanders, owner of a hotel there is early days and later operated the stage line. I had arrived at a farm in western Kansas, near the town of Coffeyville, where it is rumored that Jesse James, once used the barn for a hiding place for a deserved rest.
JB brought his family to the small valley in the 1870s after having sold a Spenceville hotel in the California gold fields and established an operation that stripped the bark from oak trees that grew in such profusion there. The bark was dried and brought to market in the San Francisco area, where they melt the tannic acid as was used in leather processing. Men work about six months of the year to accumulate enough crust for a load and load of a mule train of the same. The following are on the road, sometimes for several months to travel, sell your product, buy necessities in the way of supplies and goods for next year and return to the valley. During the time of his absence, women and the children were at home, and made do as best they could. hunted and fished. They grew gardens abundant in rich, dark soil. And they were a family. And they lived families day living.
In 1947, soon after the end of World War II, the national economy in the transition from a war economy in peacetime. In this juncture, jobs were scarce for qualified men and all returning veterans, it was much more difficult, so when my father heard about a new sawmill that was near Boonville, we went there. In those days, were smaller sawmill business, built on the site in the middle of a wooden support, in this case the redwoods, Sequoia Sempervirons, and the wood was harvested and spun off directly into the mill yard. There were no records of this factory trucks, no railways and was an efficient way to make wood. This mill, which was sixteen miles west of Boonville, exactly halfway between the city and the Ocean Pacific. The road to the coast was paved in some places even gravel. From the coast road, in the Miller brand sixteen, a dirt road cat (cut to a track by a bulldozer) published two miles up the canyon where the creek has been dammed to form a log pond that factory had enough. The wood being harvested was magnificent … Redwood records, divided in half, were even more through my dad was tall and I was about six feet had booths is only available for housing on the ground and they had no running water or electricity. Our house had three rooms, I remember, and water was carried by the bucket load from a spring at the bottom of the hill, except when it rained. Then he was captured as he ran the roof cabin, except for the part he was trapped inside after running across the roof of the cab!
As the school was in session and there was facilities for the children arrive at school at Blue Hole, my sisters stayed home and my brother two years my junior and I went with my parents. My uncle has just returned service in Italy during the war was there.
Often, the weekend drive my aunt and her four children and my three sisters to visit. We now wonderful there. The mill pond was full of trout, eager to bite on anything you put before them, the hills were full of deer that were not supposed to hunting, but anyway … Often accompanied my father on these companies, even after four years of age.
One of my earliest memories, and a live record that was in the Blue Hole. The Garcia River toured the area and held a giant salmon and steelhead (rainbow trout sea). There were also some wonderful trout native in the stream. One day my father and I went fishing … Well, he was fishing, I was for the ride of the "". In a pool under the shade of the huge Redwood trees that grew on the bench, there was a large rainbow trout for the dinner cruise. My father put me on a large rock beside the stream where she could see and said: "Wait here and see what happens!" Grasshopper fell from the edge of the stream back ways, threaded on the hook and turned out in that group … The big trout was attracted by the splash of the error he fell overboard and turned to him immediately. Like a miniature shark with a pleasant, swimmer fat, delicious in its view, the fish closed in the grasshopper started once, twice, and after a moment or two, again. In the third kick, the big fish hit like a Polaris missile from the depths.
My father the hook and the battle was joined. For several minutes seemed like hours for a period of four years old sitting on the rock looking, who fought, but little by little, the trout began to succumb. Dad provided the bank and lowered himself to the river's edge.
Another dilemma arose as the fish tired and was beaten. Dad could take him to the bench, but he could not handle two or three vertical feet needed to carry grounded. And I could not go with the stick in his hands because he could not do it and keep the line tight. Any slack in the line and the fish would be gone in an instant.
Dad called me and asked me to come to him, around the rock by the river far behind. When I got there I asked if I thought I could for a task for him. Not knowing what it was, according to avidity and showed me how he wanted to hold his stick and apply constant pressure while the fish was in the water to get it. I was very careful to make it just right, back up a step or two when I felt the line start to decrease.
I saw when entered the water, which was to just above the knees here, and get behind the fish, lying on its side in the water, it happened. Little by little, to no frighten him, he relaxed his hands until he could pull it to shore and as he did this, he shouted at me to shoot with all my might … And I did! So much so that I went straight back and the fish landed on top of me! It was flapping and kicking and could not catch him and afraid to be back in the water but had no Father … catch the fish and then quickly sending a rock.
We returned home that day, a few very proud, we had won the big fish. Oh, there were others in the Creel, I have an image that even today capture. He showed a board with twelve trout in it, the youngest of more than eight inches and larger, excluding this great fish over fourteen inches. There were many fishing expeditions, but this was the most memorable.
The summer was idyllic, but the arrival of winter brought the deluge of rain that country is so famous for. The dirt road to the main road was impassable for three months solid, so there was no way out to town for anything but the most serious of the substance in food, etc. To exit, a cat had to be carried two miles from the plant to the main road to unity city of a spin, the rain soaked partially gravel road … was not a journey for the faint of heart.
Because there was no way to get timber trucks in the mill, wood stacking unsold and it was not long before paychecks began to bounce, which meant the death knell for wooden Rocket Company Blue Hole.
When the winter rains loosened a little, the cats dozing a bit of a road, and took each vehicle one by one from the camp and went Blue Hole. However, it has always been part of my story, and, as you can say no, some evil.
We spent the summer of 1948 at a factory in Anderson Creek on the outskirts of Boonville. Jones is the mill and do not live in a surplus U.S. Army mess tent. It split off into four rooms, three sleeping and the fourth for the general living area. My sisters were with us during this period. I forget why we left there, but I think Dad got a job as carpenter in Santa Rosa, our homes and regulate their activities regularly and went home. Never lived in the valley, but often visited there and hunting nearby, to many, many years. I even took my first deer when I was fourteen, but that's another story …
About the Author
Noah fishing with Rocket Fishing Rod
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