When You're From Kelso, WA

We used to dip smelt on the Cowlitz River near the end of every winter. My dad and I would stand on the steep, rocky banks in the pelting icicle rain dipping a net at the end of a six foot pole into the water. It would take all of my kidstrength and bony leverage to pull the stuffed net out of the current and dump our fishy haul into the barrel sized bucket at the water’s edge. Smelt are pretty small. They’re not anchovy small, but they’re not trout sized. Get the idea? Usually, our neighbor Cliff, an ex-policeman from Alaska and gunsmith, would go down the two or three blocks to the river with a flashlight in the evenings to check for signs of a run. The phone would ring at our place and my dad would answer with his usual, loud “Whaddayasay?” If the news was good, my dad would shout, “get yer rain slicks on, Scotty, the smelt are running!” They say Kelso, Washington is the “Smelt Captial of the World.” It sure seemed that way to me. The grey sky was socked in with clouds of seagulls waiting for the dead smelt to wash up on the rocks for an easy meal. They would often shower us in squalls of shit. Was it worth it? You bet. My dad and I would clean the lot, throw most in the smoker and bread a few to fry. Then we would sit at the dining room table munching smelt with boiled potatoes and cabbage. That’s what you do when you’re from Kelso.