A history told by water...

My family vacations at the same spot every year. It is a tradition that started with my grandparents, passed to my parents, and continues with my brothers and me. My grandparents chose Redfish Lake largely because of location. Being Idaho farmers, they needed to be close enough to the farm to return quickly. They couldn't be separated from the land for more than a few days. My grandpa would deep flood the potato fields, over water the hay, and then pack his wife and kids in the pickup and go. They would follow the Lost River up through Mackey and Challis to where it met the Salmon. Following the Salmon would take them up the canyon to Redfish.

The first night was often spent on the beach near the point. Grandpa would lay a tarp down, the kids would lay down their sleeping bags, and then grandpa would pull another tarp across the top. He and grandma slept in the truck at the campground gates. In the time before reservations, the key to getting the camping spot of your choice required planning. It was first come, first serve and my grandpa was always there first--parking Sunday night, bedding his kids on the beach, ready for the Monday morning opening.

Redfish Lake is one of the most beautiful places on earth. It was named by explorers becuase when they found it, the lake was teeming with Sockeye Salmon, their crimson scales flashing in the water tinting it red. Maybe I am sentimental, maybe my family history with lake makes it more than it is, but it is also a truly amazing place. It is calm and uncrowded. In the mornings and the evenings, the lake spreads out like a sheet of glass; its surface unbroken and clear blue. Light falls from the East or West and reflects off the water. There is little sound except for water on the shore, the day break or evening call of birds, the occasional jump of a fish. On all sides their are mountains of trees and the head is shadowed by Mount Heyburn. It is balm for the self, balm for the soul.

Since my dad died, my love for the lake has deepened. I can feel him there. I believe a person's spirit revisits the places they loved in the mortal realm. They are still drawn to the landscape and feeling of a place. They still love what they loved. I like to think about my dad visiting Redfish even though I can't see him. I like to imagine him sitting on the shore in the soft morning light, looking out across the water, and breathing deeply before the beginning of the day. I see him in the strange of light of evening, silhouetted against the sun, pulling in the moor lines, anchoring the boat, and standing knee deep in the blue. I feel him in the water, on the shore, against the skyline, waiting and watching.

When I die I want to be taken to Redfish. I want my ashes sprinkled at the head waters and the outlet stream. I want to be part of the water and the trees and the sand. I want to be carried by a fish to the sea. If the heart has home outside of its landscapse, then Redfish is mine. It holds years of traditions, and memories, and family. It is our history. It is my history. It is my family's story told by water.