Excerpted from an article on the subject:
The Salmonator
"Like everything else, life goes on, changes occur,
and things get replaced. This change and replacement I
am referring to is my 1972 Dodge Dart; my new fishing
car. As far as appearances go, it has seen quite a few
better days. However, the thing runs like a Swiss
watch. It characterizes its previous owner's
philosophy fairly well in that it is a little rough
around the edges, but the running gear works great.
Form follows function, you might say.
The way in which I acquired this beauty I am still a
little uncomfortable with. I inherited her from my
brother-in-law, Rick, who unfortunately had his own
running gear give out on him too early in life. He is
no longer here in body but his spirit will always
remain within our hearts and minds.
As I made up my mind not to fly home but to drive the
car instead, I wondered what I was getting myself
into. The car was an absolute mess and because it had
been sitting for a while it didn't want to start right
up. A quick trip to Les Schwab for a new battery
remedied that problem and I was on my way. The road
trip home was going to be of epic proportions and I
actually began to look forward to peeling off miles of
asphalt in an unknown vehicle. Kind of a
mini-adventure.
When I say the car was a mess, that is somewhat of an
understatement. It was so bad that in order for me to
be able to bring it home, I had to agree that my wife
would never have to be seen in or around it. For the
most part, even after I cleaned the car, she still
feels that same sentiment. The exterior has a few
dents and dings here and there but that's not really
the first thing I noticed about it. The first thing my
attention was drawn to was the quantity of moss and
the like that had taken up root on the car. I guess it
was moss. It may have been algae of some sort but
whatever it was, it encompassed almost half of the car
and was more heavily concentrated in the areas where
water didn't drain off the body very well.
The interior was somewhat indescribable. Spade,
Rick's dog, was a permanent fixture in the back seat,
and you could tell. The carpet in the back looked as
if it was shedding and as a friend told me, "You
probably have a couple years worth of tying material
back there". The side windows were heavily smudged and
the back window was almost opaque due to slobber from
Spade peering out and rubbing it.
Moving forward to the front seat, the first thing to
catch your eye was a beautiful pillow with a nice
floral pattern covering a hole in the seat the size of
your bathroom sink. This huge, upholsterer's nightmare
just happened to be on the driver's side which will
give you some idea of the comfort of which I was about
to travel in. Upon moving the pillow to inspect the
actual damage I wondered if any more crap could get
crammed under the seat and noticed what wonderful
shape the carpet appeared to be in. I also came to
realize that there are a lot of springs that go into
the making of a car seat.
As I sat behind the wheel making sure the radio,
headlights, and windshield wipers worked, I gazed out
the windshield and couldn't help but think of
Christmas. The glass was so old that the perimeter was
frosted. I remembered back to when I was growing up in
Texas, people would do that to the windows of their
house during the holidays with that flocking-in-a-can.
I sat there motionless taking in the combined aromas
of cigarettes, old dog, dirt, tools and a few spilled
beers, and wondered again what I was getting myself
into. I was committed. There was no way I could catch
my flight and I had to get back for work on Monday.
I said my good-byes, hopped in and fired her up. As I
said earlier, the car runs wonderfully, and I was
about to find out just how wonderful. Rick took a lot
of pride in being a crackpot mechanic and I was soon
to discover how great a mechanic he really was.
With the tank filled up, I hit the highway with 8
cylinders of good old American muscle firing in
perfect order. I had some of Rick's old tunes with me,
so I popped some Doors into the cassette and cranked
it up. All the way home I got an overdose of The
Doors, Ted Nugent, Led Zeppelin, The Stones, and Joe
Walsh. It was kind of fitting to be jammin' to these,
Rick's favorites, in his old ride.
Well, the trip ended too soon and as I pulled in
behind my house I cut the motor. Very anticlimactic
yet rewarding in its own way. I felt invigorated as
well as stiff and a little sore in the posterior
region.
The next morning I arose and started cleaning the
Dart. The solution I used contained two gallons of
water, two cups of bleach and a half-cup of soap. I
figured that would clean, disinfect, and eradicate all
in one step. I cleaned out 2� gallons of nails Rick
had in the trunk as well as some rusted, old carpentry
tools. After a thorough scrubbing she doesn't even
really look like the same old car. I believe that
although he probably would have thought I was wasting
my time, Rick would be pleased nonetheless. All in all
it took around five hours to scrub the thing from top
to bottom, end to end, and inside and out, but it was
kind of fun.
At Rick's memorial service a good friend of his
talked about Rick and the relationship they had. They
were fishing buddies and he was very shaken at Rick's
sudden, unexpected passing. As Rusty tried to hold
back emotions, he talked of how one of Rick's goals in
life was to "systematically reduce the population of
salmon in the Puget Sound, one by one." He used to
joke around with Rick about a nickname he had given
him; "The Salmonator." Although The Salmonator won't
"be back", his spirit lives on in our hearts, our
minds, and in my 1972 Dodge Dart, the SALMN8R.
=====
Not so new but still under construction:
http://www.geocities.com/salmn8r/northwestcountryflies.html
"Skues me while I sink my fly!" Jimi Hendrix, guitar player & wet fly fanatic.
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