Rick's Story for his Dad!
Today we remember the life of Ron Rusher, “Dad” to me.
He was a giant of a man, with a giant heart, who lived a giant Life. I remember a time when I got a Father’s Day card for him, it said: “Happy Dads Day!—any man can be a Father — but it takes someone special to be a Dad.”
He was special and I am thankful I had a dad like him. Not many kids can say they have done the things I got to do with my dad.
He always treated me like a man not a kid. He’d make me feel like I could do anything. From sitting on his lap and steering the truck when I was only five, going commercial fishing when I was eight, clearing property, to gathering fire wood, he always would say you work like a man so I will treat you like a man. And he believed that you should work hard and play even harder.
Dad was more than a dad to me. He was also my mentor, teacher, coworker, boss, hunting partner, and fishing partner, just to name a few. But mostly dad was my hero and my best friend. Always encouraging, he’d let me try something if he thought it could be done. He never said, “Oh don’t do that you might get hurt.” or “You might not be able to.” No he’d say “give it a try but be safe.”
Mom could never keep us in the house. Dad had given us the love of the outdoors and my brothers and I would stay outside until the last minute. Thinking back on how we’d play “Cowboys and Indians” in the woods, which, now is so politically incorrect that parents don’t let their kids play it. Instead they buy them video games that they can play from the couch. Oh how times change. I am so glad dad instilled in us the great outdoors and all the opportunities it brings. He made sure to include us in all his outdoor adventures, from taking us hiking into lakes to trout fish, or taking us moose hunting, deer hunting, sport fishing, crabbing and even trapping.
These opportunities taught me so much. He even taught me how to cook on the boat. — yeah! He could cook up a mean can of “Dinty Moore Beef Stew” J. Really mom was the cook of the family.
He also taught me so many life lessons, from how to survive being stranded if the weather got too bad, to how to build, or repair things without giving up, and even when I placed my first bet.
I Remember! We were at Rosie’s Café in Pelican. Dad and I went up from the harbor to have a meal (not out of a can!). We were sitting with a good fishing buddy of dads, Skip. I had ordered a hamburger with all the fixings, fries, and a chocolate shake from Rosie. About half way through savoring my meal, Skip spoke up “Rick I bet you two bits you cannot eat all those French fries.” I looked down at the half eaten pile of fries and I knew it would be easy to eat the rest. I looked at my dad, he looked at me; “Don’t make a bet you are not sure you can win.” he said with a grin. Again I looked down and just knew I could eat what was on my plate, so out went my hand to meet Skip’s outreached palm, “Two bits it is”. I started eating the rest of my meal and suddenly Skip reached over, took a fry off my plate, held it up, ate it and said “Rick you did not eat them all, I ate one. Two bits please.” Wow! I had just lost my first bet and that was one of those life lessons that has stuck with me. Now I don’t gamble unless I have weighed the odds a little better; dad tried to warn me but he also let me learn.
Boating with my family is one of my fondest memories. It all started shortly after moving to Haines, where dad built a cabin on Chilkat Lake. We used to get to the lake by riverboat or airboat going up the Chilkat River. I recall dad building airboats in our shop at the back of the store and then taking me out to the river to test them out. What a blast, the noise of the airplane engine screamed so loudly we had to wear earmuffs. It felt like we were actually flying over the water, winding our way up the river, swerving from one bank to the next to avoid gravel bars. Zooming around a bend and surprising a huge Bull Moose standing at the edge of the river, causing the moose to startle and crash its way back into the brush. Being only five years old then, the excitement I felt was so exhilarating and intense, being there with dad made me feel like I was the master of the river.
Other times at our Cabin, dad would tie the rowboat off to a tree on the beach with a 100 foot line, so I could practice my rowing without the wind blowing me down the lake, or getting too far from the beach. I’d row the best I could all the way out to the end of the line. I’d take my little brother, Randall, with me who was 2 years my junior. As far out from the beach as we could get, we’d trout fish. We were the family fishermen, bringing in the supper for the family, again, feeling at five years old, like we had now mastered the lake.
Commercial salmon trolling in Southeast with my dad, fishing the rugged coastal area of Alaska offered some of the most spectacular sights one could imagine. Sometimes there were ocean swells so big that if you were fishing with another boat close by, it would go completely out of sight in the bottom of the swell. Trolling along and seeing a giant Sea Lion follow your gear as you are hauling in a forty pound king, taking one big bite only feet before you can get the Salmon in the boat. All you had left was the head of the king. The rest was lunch for the Sea Lion.
Many of my memories of Kodiak are of spending time on the ocean, working on the Tug with dad, or running around in the 17-foot Boston Whaler we had.
Recalling one time, when I was 16, living in Kodiak, I’d gone out to Danger Bay Camp on Afognak Island to pick up my friend, Kim, to spend the weekend in town. On our way to town the weather was absolutely fantastic. We had made it about halfway when we saw dad in the Cygnet heading to camp. We pulled up next to him as he came to an idle. We drifted together visiting for a minute before dad disappeared into the wheelhouse. He emerged a few seconds later with this big, probably 2-liter brown bottle. It was a Sapporo (Japanese Beer), that he had been given a case of from the Japanese log ship Captain. He handed it to Kim and looked me in the eyes and said, “Don’t tell your mom.” Here I was, with this fantastic gal and a nice cold beer to split between us. My dad was the coolest!
My time spent on the water during those early years is still etched in my memory like it was yesterday. I sometimes ask myself, how did I get so lucky for the opportunities that so few get? The answer, because of dad! These types of experiences were typical of our youth, and I cannot be thankful enough to our dad and mom who allowed us the opportunities to explore and challenge our abilities, pulling on the reins every once in a while to keep us alive, but without being overbearing and overprotective of us. I was extremely adventurous and it is a wonder that I lived through some of my wild expeditions.
Dad was not only a great dad but he was a guy who’d give you the shirt off his back if he thought it would help. He knew more people and had more friends than anyone I know.
Dad showed me how to make both a living, and a life. He showed me how to add life to years not years to life, and he showed me how important it is to cross the street to meet a new neighbor.
Thank you dad for giving me so much, I cherish every moment spent with you.
I Love you Dad and I know you will always look after me
Love Rick
Great words from George Carlin:
“Remember, spend some time with your loved ones, because they are not going to be around forever.
Remember, say a kind word to someone who looks up to you in awe, because that little person soon will grow up and leave your side.
Remember to give a warm hug to the one next to you, because that is the only treasure you can give with your heart and it doesn’t cost a cent.
Remember, to say, “I love you” to your partner and your loved ones, but most of all mean it. A kiss and an embrace will mend hurt when it comes from deep inside of you.
Remember to hold hands and cherish the moment for someday that person will not be there again. Give time to love, give time to speak, and give time to share the precious thoughts in your mind.
AND ALWAYS REMEMBER:
Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away.”