Morning just happened with a start, my spirit suddenly keeping perfect time with my heart. Fall River had completed its natural rhythm school and like a fine Swiss watch I understood the movement of time in my soul and mind.

   Lapping ocean waves meandering river glides move wind in timeless coincides. Wind pushing water, warbling bird sounds all about, evening shadows glisten while Father Time sorts it out… All is well in the Realm of The Rhythm Watchers tick tock, tick tock...

   LIFE REDEFINED IN INCHES

   At or around nineteen hundred or 7pm my wrist takes a sudden jolt unfamiliar, as a healthy 18 inch local resident wild rainbow smacks my #18 Mosquito and we had a wonderful short dance together before photos and adieu! My spirits have been placed in balance and this third good size Fall River Trout has made my day or week? It appears nearly all action as in most waters is in the very early or last two hours of the day. Each of the three wild bows was fooled with 7x tippet and patience. The challenge is to not only fool the fish with nearly invisible tippets, then not let the 16-inch or bigger trout snap the tippet. Best part of this new longer relationship with the River of Dreams is the need to not make mistakes. My fly fisher education here includes relearning old basics like complete line control from fly all the way up to the fly line itself. This intensive course includes basic river navigation, anchor control in at times 15 plus knot winds. I have not ventured more then one mile in either direction in my first three full weeks working the middle, lower area of the river. Within this real estate many coves and weedy spots offer opportunities, as the amount of rising rings early and late indicate a healthy population very close to my cabin. This is my routine so far after 3 weeks. Up at 6am on the water by seven, move around and work a 50 to 100 yard section of both sides of the area. Quit around ten if no action and begin again around 6pm until 8 or dark.

   PASTORAL UPPER CALIFORNIA

   I have renewed respect for mature watercolor artists every waking moment here in Fall River Mills California. Wild flowers are everywhere in vivid purples with a dash of white and yellow splashed in. The river runs varying shades of green depending on the light, time of day and shadows. One constant sound as I throw lines all morning or late afternoon is the sounds of birds never ceasing their overtures to one another. Because this place is still so new to me, early mornings it’s as if I awake inside a child’s fantasy country playground. It is so perfectly arranged by Mother Nature as to convince one of the existence of an ethereal fish and game committee that must have Monet present at most meetings.

   Early on in this quick three-week exposure, it is clear how the natural forces here conspire to mesmerize fly fishers, nature lovers, bird watchers. After an half hour of staring at my fly dive deep into the emerald depths, I do tend to let my eyes wonder and watch the mini dramas going on around me. Three domestic bright pink beaked geese live next door under the tree where the two mature Bald Eagles live. They have been most upset and loud because a flock of wild geese have suddenly landed in their little piece of heaven! As I slowly electric motor out early mornings, all three hefty residents greet me with a concerto that sounds like ten cups being dragged behind a bus. Across the river where a few hundred prized cows pasture, another auditory sonata occurs when the wind is just right. One can enjoy the sounds of countless grass gnawing machines grinding in unison. (Remember that mental picture next time you order a cheese burgher Pilgrim.) One morning a young healthy Robin just outside the window interrupted my slumber with a beak overflowing with bugs he just captured. He was bouncing around in the morning sun by himself making loud noises as if bragging about his breakfast or just loving life.

   If any one aspect of this opus of natural delights dominates, it is the diversity, coloration, and numbers of bird species. The owls that live near by in an old barn that stands like a brownish skeleton includes: Pigmy, Barn, and a large Great Horned, I caught a glimpse and captured on film. If only for the birds alone, it would be reason enough to visit this naturalist heaven on the banks of this River of Endless Dreams. One slight personal negative for me is the rising amount of boat traffic as summer comes calling. I must reconcile the idea that others may wish to indulge and gorge on Fall River’s enchantments.

   Lesson’s learned the hard way may be the best, one early morning around 7am I suddenly felt a strong hit just as I was about to lift fly line near the boat and throw. It was a 19-inch maybe three pound bow, he made a quick run under the boat before I could let out enough slack for his first good run. He snapped off quickly, I knew in that split second why I loved this sport so much! Even in the act of misjudging and loosing a good fish I was reminded how nothing is ever worked out quite the same in this game, it humbles, it taunts and often the fish win the game.

   Fletcher decided at the last minute to take Timba along on his trip back to dear conservative Sausalito California. The bond between these two old friends is evident to all who know the Quillmeister lord of Ravens Heaven. As the leased small jet circles San Francisco International, Timba crawls up Quills arm and they both press cold noses against the tiny window lost in memories of past lives in the city by the bay. Quill sees the hostess coming toward him with the sky phone poised like a hungry cobra, "Excuse me Mr. Quill, it must be some sort of sick joke! I have a man who says he is the most notorious living ex President?" "Phil, how the hell did you find me this time? You must be getting clairvoyant with all that free time." "Yeah right, listen you little grave robbing bug throwing maniac, I hear you’re about to pull a beautiful publicity stunt in that sweet little seaside hamlet we both love." "Ok, let me guess your lowness, you want in on this gig because of all the publicity we are going to get right?" "Timba, is that you I hear purring? Fletch I got a call from your buddy who was married to Mawanna, Pawn, Sean, what the hell is his first name? Any who, he tells me your Coyote/Wild Turkey Shoot is bringing out every protester standing that is not sleeping in trees. I will of course align myself with that crowd during the day and hang with you and Timba at night." "Cool with us Phil, listen I gotta get you out on the water for a bit of bug tossing one of these days, see you at Valhalla’s for dinner."

   After forty minutes of winding through Hiway #280 and into the final glide toward the Golden Gate Bridge. Fletcher gets up the nerve to check his local answering machine. "Hey Mr. Quill my name is Flea Bailey I represent a band of feral cats living in Golden Gate Park, Sir we protest!" "Hey Fletcher, it’s the Red Rocker dude, come over to the Sweetwater in Mill Valley and give me the 411 on this shoot out thing." "Fletcher Quill, do you remember that you have a girlfriend named Clare?" "Fletcher its your President son, I have Slick Brainy here with me, hell I just gave him the go to bring along that dam nuclear sub when he joins you for the shoot. Stick it to those hot tubbin dope smoking Mariner’s for me!" "Quill, this is Madelyn Nevergetany Chairman of the Marin Save All Living Creatures League. Sir if you harm one hair of any animal in this county we have a unique form of protest that includes a lot of sun block, if you get my drift?" 

  "Fletch, Jive Boy here, dude you and I have to pow wow like now wow, I just got a call from this older chick named Nevergetany. Love that name, she says her and her gang of too much free time Marin woman are going to spoil your little show in Sausalito. We gotta hook up soon, I have an offer from a famous model who lives in Paris you and I won’t be able to resist."

  After a day of preparation the players, rather shooters are just finishing breakfast as Fletcher and Timba tap, tap, a water glass, "Excuse me, before we get into position for this first annual wild turkey- coyote shoot here on a glorious Sausalito morning. Introductions are in order, as if anyone here doesn’t know who is seated at this table? Mr. Female magnet supreamo Robert Bedford, Mr. Mrs. Stephi Graff, Sean Penn, that famous Chronicle cartoonist Phil Spank, Last but not least the largest independent land owner in all of Marin his highness George (Can I ever dream up another winner) Lucass. Welcome you brave beautiful people, in case you haven’t noticed we are inundated with both world press and protesters. This will be a moment all of you will hopefully cherish as we eliminate a good amount of these pesky vermin. Ok, we have two teams for each side of the street. When you see either Jive Boy or I wave this red handkerchief the shooting stops and we see who can hit the side of a barn. The wild game handlers composed of recently unemployed kids soccer coaches have the 100 turkeys and coyotes held in the pen set up at the beginning of main street.

  Ladies and gentlemen on the count of three the beasts will be released as Jive Boy drops the yellow flag it’s all up to you shooters. Suddenly Quill catches a glimpse of his old pal Phil standing smack in the middle of a g ang of naked woman. Before Jive Boy can drop his flag, both sides of Bridgeway Ave. are awash in naked female protesting flesh and it ain’t pretty.

   Then Quill suddenly was treated to a sight no human ought to have to see. There right smack in the middle of all that wrinkly middle-aged female flesh was our stark naked ex President holding hands and singing "We Shall Overcome". Helicopters circled and camera shutters snapped as Phil and his naked army stormed into the holding pen and released all the turkeys and coyotes. Fletcher was now being grilled by non other then that feral cat loving ambulance chaser Flea Bailey while several naked woman were pelting him with fowl smelling gifts left in the pens by the coyotes.

   Timba and Fletcher were then escorted by the local gendarmes and given a quick ride over to the Sweetwater. A famous local hangout where The Red Rocker and his gang were going to throw Quill a serious victory party. As the police cruiser headed for Mill Valley, Timba was busy licking all the coyote stuff off of his masters face. Clare and Phil were with him and as the cruiser was about to let them out, Phil grabs Fletchers arm and says" Fletch, man you do lead the life! Hell I know people with more money and power then Donald Trump who can’t touch you for adventure." Timba fell asleep smelling like Coyote dung as Quill found himself knee deep in another brand of dung.."Mr. President, you sir can ride with Timba and I any time." Clare looking out the limo window says to no one in particular "What exactly is the nature of our relationship?"

THE END

Stay tuned next month as the Sweetwater Rocks !

Fletcher Quill, part 1
Fletcher Quill, part 2
Fletcher Quill, part 3
Fletcher Quill, part 4
Fletcher Quill, part 5
Fletcher Quill, part 6
Fletcher Quill, part 7
Fletcher Quill, part 8
Fletcher Quill, part 9
Fletcher Quill, part 10
Fletcher Quill, part 11
Fletcher Quill, part 12

Written by Dan Fallon © 2003
Illustrations by Phil Frank © 2003
Photos by Dan Fallon © 2003

For Dan Fallon's earlier and later columns; visit the table of contents