Last week’s blog and this fall weather has got me thinking about my Grampy Gilbert. As I said last week, he was a registered Maine guide and as you can imagine, he had stories up the ying-yang! Here’s a couple of family favorites:
There was the one about the doctors from New York, come up to Maine to go fishing one June. On the phone Grampy says, “I’ll tell you right up front, it’s black fly season up here. Sometime’s the air’s so thick with them p’tit mouche, you can’t see your hand in front of your face. In fact, a swarm of them carried off Mrs. Dugall’s dog last week. No shit! And it was a St. Bernard!” The doctors come up anyway.
My grandfather took them up to a little cabin on a lake you could only get to by pontoon plane. His friend Ernie Lambert flew ‘em in. Ernie dropped them off, and agreed to come back in five days to pick ‘em up. Well, by the time them New Yorkers got their gear into the cabin, they were covered i n bites, head to toe. They’d had it, and spent the five days drinking and playing cards. Meanwhile Grampy doused himself in Fly Dope, and had the greatest time fishing, all by his lonesome! Heck, with all them bibbit, the lake was fairly boiling with bass. “I can’t believe they pay me to have this much fun,” he laughed.
Here’s another one. Two guys from Massachusetts hire him to take ‘em moose hunting, right? Oh, they talked a good game, all tricked out in brand-y new gear from L.L. Bean. I guess they big plans of mounting moose heads on their walls back home.
“So first day, we’re walking down the trail, turn the corner and boom! We come face to face with a big, honking bull moose. Them two city slickers take one look at that beast, and head for the hills, scared silly. When the dusts settles, it’s me and the moose standing there, sizing each other up. Finally, the moose just snorts and walks off into the woods. I take a little nip from my flask, hoist it high and say, ‘Salut, monsieur!’
“Must have taken me an hour to find those fellas. They told me they’d pay me double if I got ‘em back to town before dark. Eh, la, la! Was I gonna argue with that?”
And my absolute favorite: “This big guy comes up from Pennsylvania to go hunting. He gets off the train and I’m thinking, How’s this fella even gonna hike a mile? He was huffing and puffing just walking over to my truck. So the first night, we’re staying in this cabin I know of. Before my head hits the pillow, the guy falls asleep and starts snoring. I mean, sawing wood ‘til the cows come home and beat the band! “Hank!” I yell. “Pipe down!” He’d sputter to a stop for a minute, like an old jalopy. Then he’d crank up again. “Hank!” I yell, but it was no use. Finally, I get up, walk over to him and kiss him on the lips. He wakes up, I smile, and go back to bed. He doesn’t sleep a wink the rest of the trip, but me, I sleep like a baby!”
That’s it for now. Catch you on the flip side!
Hear Ida Tell It: More Grampy Gilbert Stories
Coming up this week:
October 19: The Moose in Me, The Moose in You, 7:00, to benefit the Friends of the Bridgeton Public Library, Magic Lantern, Bridgeton, ME
October 22: Finding Your Inner Moose Book Reading, 6:00pm, sponsored by Simpson Memorial Library, Golden Harvest Grange, Carmel, ME