on arriving in vegas airport i was deplaned and immediately lost in the ding-ding of the slots and milling people glazed eyes comin and goin from the mythical vegas full power pedal to the metal. vegas yes, and all i wanted to do was escape before the deaddrift tee logo caught someone’s eye or heaven forbid full eye contact, and here i was lost in the terminal and no face in sight from the flight, the plane which was mysteriously empty but for me and few fbi handlers at a discreet distance, only two of us in whole section of the plane i was on. only about 10 folks in whole jet and the crew. and i want to thank them for their fine hospitality while i was in the air. as i was a bit wasted from the previous pre-flight night up to about 2 am tying size 18 red annelids imitations about two dozen of the little ones red floss with copper wire ribbing and a small red glass bead for a head. for the faraway san juan tailwaters just in case ya never know the west is a big place and the days of sept. are wonderful in the west. clear crisp days with full blue sky a wonder of clouds or cloudless days with the sun burning over the valleys with no wind and mystical red mountains and horizons piled on horizons of purple shadowed ranges stretching into the infinite western horizon.
and so i traipsed around the area i deplaned for a clue to my luggage carousel. first of all, no raul to meet me and drag these damn bags through the terminal, he is always predictable as to be unpredictable. no raul. wayne will hear about this and his hiring relatives to perform even the simplest of tasks. but no. luckily the stewardesses from my flight from omaha walked by me when i was the most frantic and seriously considering throwing some quarters into a machine until i was paged by c.h.s. and whisked away. well the good girls of the air got me steered on the tram thing that took me to the other side of vegas terminal hell and pointed me off to retreive all the camping gear i own and all the damn flies for the fall west i could stuff into a duffel. and my rods in rod case. oh lordy i worry about em traveling. but lo eventually they were spit forth intact from the belly of the airport beast unmolested and ready to drag to the car passenger area. as there was no raul i had to perform this dragging thing with the two duffels, day pack, and rod tube. and i had no idea where the car passenger area was. so i asked the cia guy who was shadowing me as i got my stuff. he was tryin to be cool and not be noticed but i just walked straight up and asked him directions. and said nice suit. and then dragged bent over all this gear i need to travel and survive the west. far west. farouthere west. where trout only locals know and die with the secret know west.
and as i piled my gear on the street with folks comin and goin in tempestous glory of american travel and being in vegas. flyin in. the excitement was thick. and just when i thought i was going to be there for days. up drives ch. s. and scoops me and gear up and the next moment i am spitting sunflower seeds out the window of a nice white conversion van eqipped with tv and working cigarette lighter. and chs and i talking and smiling and flying high towards lake mead callville bay and the glorious waters of the colorado bound by that big ole hoover dam.
that night i slept on the porch, coyote packs roamin the huge parking lot. screamin and yowlerin at the sliver of a moon on a cloudless night with stars as big as spotlights ya could read by em. sleepin on the porch overlookin the whole bay and marina and the flow of luxery boats and vehicles america’s finest parade going to and fro from the water.
and i slept again in the callville bay escape world. slept the sleep of a free man.
again free. sometimes a bit too free.
and in search of trout. free trout.
around me the scorpions, black widows, and rattlesnakes were workin the night. under a sliver moon, ch’s dog and i curled up on the wide padded reclining chairs and watched the bats work the parking lot lights. swooping in on the few desert bugs flitting about. working the desert night. as my jet lagged mind’s eye drooped and closed the desert was wide awake and workin the night shift.
and the old dog slept,
and i dreamed of punching little doggies and getting them along.
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