Sunday afternoon I called fishing guide Jack, the guide who was leading our salmon fishing expedition scheduled for Tuesday, down one of the wild rivers on the west side of the Olympic Peninsula. Jack said that we would fish the Queets on Tuesday, and that we would meet at Jake’s Restaurant at 6:00 a.m. Tuesday morning. I know Jake’s. My next door neighbor Jim Dreher and I have reconnoitered there on previous fishing trips led by Jack and his team of river guides. Jake’s has a sign that reads, “Spotted Owl tastes better than fried chicken.” I called my brother Mike in Portland, who I had invited to go on this wilderness adventure, to let him know the time of departure from my house; 3:30 a.m. Tuesday morning. Mike works until midnight, and planned to leave
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