Caden and Cameron
Ice fishing with dogs and kids
This photo (credit to others) reminds me of a trip to Steamboat Lake with my nieces, nephews, adults as well as 4 dogs. Gerry and I were trying to teach the kids how to ice fish - we drilled holes, set up fishing rods etc., while 5 kids and a few adults fought to fish. Utter chaos ensued when some of the dogs became entangled in the fishing lines. I remember Gerry patiently untangling the nightmare while my niece Jordan used the one free line to pull fish after fish through the ice!
Pottery Room/Kitchen
Vest
My First B-Day & Fly Fishing
Jerry's barn in Steamboat holds a big place in my childhood memory. I spent my first birthday Jan.1, 1970 in that barn, under the goodnatured care of older teen-age cousins. There was always so much creative happening there and Jerry was constantly teaching me about pottery, fishing, picking berries or riding horses.
The summer after my Bar-Mitzvah I spent a couple of weeks living with him. Of course I learned to tie flies and helped out with some projects he was woking on. But what I really remember is being treated as an adult. My time was mostly my own. I read books and raided the fridge. I helped cook. I still make pan fried trout the way Jerry taught me. Dinner was always late in the evening. If I wanted a glass of wine with dinner it was offered freely as though it was nothing special. We spent a great day fishing and rafting down the Colorado River that Summer.
When I think about what it might have meant to have a 13 yr. old just hanging around for a couple weeks, it is really quite remarkable to imagine his patience and hospitality. As an adult he and Kate often opened their home to me when I was travelling cross country. If I was looking for a place to vacation, they made it clear the barn was always open.
I will very much miss knowing that his door is open and that he is ready for a relaxed evening of talk. His memory is a blessing.
So many stories
It is difficult for me to visit this site without crying, but I feel that I owe Jerry a tribute. My mother Katie and I moved into Jerry's barn when I was in junior high school, and the adventures began.
Jerry was a very eccentric person even then, and I was forever trying to figure out how to communicate with him effectively. I learned that if you had any interest in fishing, camping, or art he would tell you a thousand stories and gladly show you how to tie the best knots to keep your tackle secure. He taught me how to tie flies with Doug Rawlings. We learned how to tie a "wooly bugger" and I was even able to cast a fly rod at the end of my lessons. In later years, Jerry would call me on my cell in Denver and keep me company all the way to work, and often times for the entire drive home. We often talked about the intracacies of how a clutch worked and what a throw out bearing was. I could always get a clear mental picture of the workings of a vehicle just by his detailed descriptions.
Like me, Jerry loved animals, and we enjoyed his horses, and later he would regale me with stories of his beloved, Guido. He tried so hard to keep Guido going even to the point of putting foam flooring in the pottery room so Guido could get purchase on the floor to get up in later years.
I will miss him, and his stories even if they were about chili peppers or how to make the best beans.
A portable, gas fired kiln Gerry built. I took quite a few pictures of it so we could know how to set it up again someday. The Farm kids had a great time with it - somewhere I have one of their masterpieces, no doubt purchased at the "Buy or Die" gift shop they would operate at the Farm during the summers.
Breakfast at 11
Fish On!
The Release
Xmas Puppy
This is Guido - a longtime companion of Gerry's. He liked to spend time in the canoe fishing with Gerry. He was very patient, and would watch the endless casting - waiting for a chance to inspect the catch when it came onboard. On one fishing trip Guido, Gerry and I encountered some nude swimmers; a story to be shared another time.
KT's 70th
Group photo taken at Hugh Newton's house in Steamboat in honor of Katie's 70th Birthday. From left to right, lower row: Lucas Holmes, Nita Englund (just above), Jody Newton/Holmes, Gerry, KT, Daniel Englund, Jordan Holmes, Julia Newton/Englund strangling her daughter Anna, John Englund. Top row: David Newton, Beth Newton, Jennifer Newton, W. Pat Newton, Sam, Hugh Newton
Fishing After Dark
During the summer of 1982, Gerry and I decided to fish a remote lake somewhere near Steamboat. As usual, we got a late start - this time due to a few last minute repairs on the old VW van...
We finally got to the trailhead and shouldered our float tubes and ample equipment (every possible fly box, reels, emergency fly tying kit, lots of food, beer, nets, extra clothing etc). My float tube weighed about a hundred pounds, and I wasn't sure it would float that equipment, let alone the addition of my rather rotund frame. We finally began the five mile hike (in full neoprene waders) late in the day, about seven hours after we had begun preparations.
Our hike included scaling a barbed wire fence where I ripped my waders due to my midwestern flexibility. About a mile before the ascent into the clouds, I was wishing I had brought an oxygen tank. Finally I arrived; Gerry (30 years my senior), had arrived about a 1/2 hour earlier, and was happily consuming some sardines on crackers and beer, one of his favorite fishing snacks.
The fishing was spectacular. There were flying ants all over the lake, and the fish were gorging themselves. Gerry had the perfect ant pattern as well as a great dropper fly that allowed us to catch two fish per cast at times! We happily fished into the dark, and reluctantly decided we getter back since I had to get to work early the next morning.
We then realized that neither of us had remembered a flashlight, and the night was pitch dark with no moon. The lake wasn't well used, and the last half of the trail was barely a deer trail. Gerry had doubled back more than once to find the correct way to the hidden lake.
For the next several hours we began the ordeal of finding our way back to the VW, which I wasn't sure would even start when we got there. We made it back by feel. Through our stockinfeet waders, we were able to detect the smoothness of the trail vs the roughness of going off the trail. The penalty of going too far off the trail meant a high altitude fall to a nice cushioning rock outcropping. Thankfully the VW hummed to life, and we made it home with about an hour to spare before I had to go to work.