DB Crouper
I had the good fortune to take a lifelong friend sturgeon fishing this last Saturday. Why good fortune? Let me tell Jack's story, and you will understand that every day spent with Jack is fortunate, as it is nothing short of miraculous that he is alive today.
Twelve years have passed since that fateful grey and drizzly winter morning in the winter of 1999. Jack and Danny, Oregon park rangers, met at the parking lot, on the east side of Highway 101, of Short Sands Beach. The beach itself is about 1/4 mile from the highway, down a storybook-like trail which winds through a grand coastal rain forest of towering fir, hemlock, and spruce trees, as well as native flora of salal, salmonberry, wild rhodies, ferns, vine maple, and escalonia. The path crisscrosses a gurgling creek with quaint foot bridges, and then opens up to perhaps Oregon's most beautiful and secluded beach, located between Cannon Beach and Manzanita. Surfers, soul seekers, and families visit this pristine paradise in great numbers in the summer and early fall, but it is often deserted in the gloominess of the Oregon winter. That was the case on that dark day, Danny's last.
It was 7:30 AM when Jack and Danny met, and Jack, the senior ranger asked Danny whether he wanted to check and clean the restroom, or walk the trail, clearing limbs and debris from the previous night's storm. It was Jack's choice, but that is the kind of boss he was; beloved, because he always put others first. Danny chose the restroom, which was shielded from view of the highway by brush, just east of the parking lot. Jack jogged across the highway and proceeded down the trail at a brisk pace, picking up and tossing aside the small limbs and sundry debris that littered the trail, a job he had done many times in his 27 years as a park ranger. He knew that his job took longer than Danny's, so he moved quickly and efficiently so that his partner, Danny, wouldn't have a long and nonproductive break. As he jogged back up the newly cleared trail to the highway, he pulled up abrubtly at the trailhead. He saw Danny and a stranger in earnest conversation, at the parking lot entrance to the restroom trail. He noted that the stranger had a black raincoat, with the hood tied up in such a way that it covered his mouth and nose. Jack sensed trouble as he jogged across the highway to Danny's side. As he arrived on the scene, he immediatly saw the small luger style pistol the hooded stranger held in Danny's side.
Intermission
Twelve years have passed since that fateful grey and drizzly winter morning in the winter of 1999. Jack and Danny, Oregon park rangers, met at the parking lot, on the east side of Highway 101, of Short Sands Beach. The beach itself is about 1/4 mile from the highway, down a storybook-like trail which winds through a grand coastal rain forest of towering fir, hemlock, and spruce trees, as well as native flora of salal, salmonberry, wild rhodies, ferns, vine maple, and escalonia. The path crisscrosses a gurgling creek with quaint foot bridges, and then opens up to perhaps Oregon's most beautiful and secluded beach, located between Cannon Beach and Manzanita. Surfers, soul seekers, and families visit this pristine paradise in great numbers in the summer and early fall, but it is often deserted in the gloominess of the Oregon winter. That was the case on that dark day, Danny's last.
It was 7:30 AM when Jack and Danny met, and Jack, the senior ranger asked Danny whether he wanted to check and clean the restroom, or walk the trail, clearing limbs and debris from the previous night's storm. It was Jack's choice, but that is the kind of boss he was; beloved, because he always put others first. Danny chose the restroom, which was shielded from view of the highway by brush, just east of the parking lot. Jack jogged across the highway and proceeded down the trail at a brisk pace, picking up and tossing aside the small limbs and sundry debris that littered the trail, a job he had done many times in his 27 years as a park ranger. He knew that his job took longer than Danny's, so he moved quickly and efficiently so that his partner, Danny, wouldn't have a long and nonproductive break. As he jogged back up the newly cleared trail to the highway, he pulled up abrubtly at the trailhead. He saw Danny and a stranger in earnest conversation, at the parking lot entrance to the restroom trail. He noted that the stranger had a black raincoat, with the hood tied up in such a way that it covered his mouth and nose. Jack sensed trouble as he jogged across the highway to Danny's side. As he arrived on the scene, he immediatly saw the small luger style pistol the hooded stranger held in Danny's side.
Intermission
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