Thanksgiving

Thank you for reading this. Sometimes I think if you didn't read this no one would. So there is probably no better time than Thanksgiving to thank you, the reader, (s) and all of the little people I stomped on my way to the top of a publishing empire that at one time may have stretched from Shine Slough to Dead Dog Flats.

 At first pandering a column that combined misanthropic venom and Stalinist rhetoric in a crude attempt at humor was more fun than a barrel of double-jointed nympho-maniacs. Unfortunately after the first week or so writing a column became almost like a job or something. I started wishing I had listened to one of the many hard working English teachers we had over the years. Like the one who convinced us to take him crabbing out in Dungeness Bay at night in the winter. It wasn't my fault he got stuck in the mud and tangled up in a crab pot line. I never did learn much English after that. In a vain attempt to write good, I was forced to rely on the tireless efforts of the many hard-working government agencies that manage our natural resources for the raw materials for this column.

For example, I would never in a million years have dreamed up the idea of the government biologists shooting the Barred Owls to save the Spotted owl. For this yuk-fest we must thank the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service. Without them, many of these columns would not be possible.

I would like to take this opportunity to thank the Washington State Department of Fish and Wildlife. Every year they provide us a constant source of mirth with a hundred and fifty pages of cutting edge humor disguised as the fishing laws.

It would not be fair to not thank the Washington State Parks people. Making people pay for a permit to go on public land and then printing the permit with disappearing ink was one of the most humorous pranks ever played on a taxpayer. Of course it would be wrong to not thank the yuk-meisters in the salmon restoration industry.  They just got done knocking down an historic dairy barn in Dungeness and the 3 Crabs Restaurant, for among other things, Bull trout habitat.

I have spent a lot of time at the 3 Crabs over the years. Grandma first took us there in the '60's for burgers after we went clamming. That was back when you could do that for less than a hundred bucks. I don't remember seeing any bull trout at the 3 Crabs at the time. They were not even on the menu. Later I conducted a lot of historic research at the 3 Crabs bar with pioneer legends like Wild Bill and Harry, the Mad Trapper of the Dungeness.  There were no Bull trout in the bar either. The idea of a bar as fish habitat is a hilarious concept.  It reminds me of the old joke about the Bull Trout who goes into a bar and asks the bartender,

“How many biologists does it take to screw in a light bulb?”

“I don't know,” The bartender said,

“One hundred.” Said the Bull Trout, “One biologist to screw it in, and ninety nine to apply for the grant.”

I am just a humble fisherman. There is no way in a million years I could make this stuff up on my own. It is only through the tireless efforts of these hard-working bureaucrats that I am able to produce a weekly column and for this privilege I am very, very thankful.