A Special Place
By Mike Duby
His name was Beauford. I met him in the summer of 1978 when I was guiding in Alaska.
I liked him from the start, and in his eyes I could see a genuine love for the wilderness around us. As we introduced ourselves and shook hands, I thought I may have seen a faint tear fall quickly down his aged face. What that meant, I did not know, but it was time to go fishing and I quickly dismissed it.
Savage, two-foot-long rainbow trout were hitting mouse imitations with a vengeance on the Toagnak River. I suggested we go there, just as all the other guides were doing.
But Beauford grabbed my arm gently and looked at me with all seriousness. "I want to go to the Ninilchik, in particular, the place where Quartz Creek runs into it."
I knew the place, having fished the Ninilchik a few times earlier in the season. The trout were smaller there, and not very numerous. I started to again suggest the Toagnak, but caught myself at the last moment. We would go where he wanted to go.
So we fished the Ninilchik at the deep, gentle-flowing pool created by tiny Quartz Creek. I rigged a red and green streamer fly for Beauford to try and could not help but marvel at the incredible beauty of the place. I took a few pictures of Beauford fishing, wondering how the man had known about this particular spot.
Beauford let out a shout of joy about then, and I could see the rod dipping heavily with the strain of a fish. My guest praised the fish for every leap it made. Every strong surge was accompanied by words of encouragement from its captor. It was almost as if Beauford wanted the fish to fight itself free. Finally, I gently lifted the rainbow from the water, quickly shook the hook free and held the fish up for Beauford to admire.
"Isn't that the finest trout you have ever seen?" Beauford said breathlessly.
I nodded dumbly. In truth, the Toagnak held rainbows that would eat this one for breakfast and look for more. But I could not ruin this moment for my elated guest, so I pointed out the intricate spots and incredibly diverse coloring of the native trout.
We released him and Beauford just stood there with this grand smile on his face for a long time. He was staring at a large flat rock across the river.
"Do you see that rock over there?" Beauford asked.
I nodded. Often I had thought to cross the river and fish from it, for it would make a fine platform for casting.
"Anything in particular about it you've noticed?" he queried.
I shrugged, mentioning it was probably the best seat on the river since there was always a shadow lying across half of it.
Beauford just smiled.
We fished the same spot on the Ninilchik for all five days of Beauford's stay. We caught fewer fish than any of the other parties, but Beauford didn't seem to mind at all.
On the last day he told me he was going to wade across the river and sit on the big flat rock he had admired every day. I got up to go with him, knowing the slippery rocks could be treacherous.
But Beauford stopped me. "I would like to be alone for an hour or so." In his eyes I could see that same firmness and intensity that had been there when he first told me we would fish the Ninilchik.
I should not have done it, a guide should never leave a client alone in the Alaskan wilds. There are bears, slippery rocks, strong currents - a hundred ways to get in trouble. But I let him go, promising him I would come for him in an hour.
Beauford came to fish with me every year after that first trip, sometimes twice a year. Each time, we would fish the same place on the Ninilchik River, each time Beauford showed that same excitement when he would catch a trout, and each time he would want to be alone for a while, sitting on the rock he had come to so dearly love.
I asked him about it a few times over the years, but Beauford would only smile. "Someday you will see it as I see it, Mike, and then you will understand."
Finally the year arrived when Beauford was not on our list, and I discovered that he would not be coming up this year. I sent him a letter, worried that something might be wrong.
A few weeks later, I received a reply:
Dear Mike,
The years have finally caught up with me, as they do
to all men eventually. My days grow shorter and shorter
and it gets harder to wake up each morning. I am not
sorry, I have lived long enough in this world and I am
ready to go on. My only regret is that I will not be
able to go fishing with you anymore. Those were good
times, Mike, and I want you to know that I will always be
thankful for those days on the river.
Before I go, there is something else I want to tell
you. I have never spoken of this before, but the time
has come for you to know.
I lost my wife two years before I first came up to
fish with you, Mike. There was a car accident late one
night and the Lord took her from me. But we had a few
moments together before her life faded, and she said she
would always be at our special place on the Ninilchik
River. We used to go there when we were younger, Mike,
and she would sit on the flat rock and watch me fish.
Remember that shadow you said you saw on that rock?
Next time you're there, try to find out what makes that
shadow. You won't find a source. That is my Rachel, and
she still sits there, waiting for me.
Now you know why I have such a love for that place.
Goodbye my friend,
Beauford
Beauford passed away before I received his letter.
I made a trip to the Ninilchik soon after. I pictured my friend effortlessly casting into the swirling waters, his thrilled laugh when he hooked a trout and the way he looked at the flat rock on the other side of the river.
I looked myself, remembering what he had told me in his letter. This time I could make out the image of a young woman sitting there on the rock, and I knew it was her, Beauford's Rachel.
I would never again see that silhouette on the rock as just a shadow.
Now there were two.
