Joining the Club

The walls of the law office at 1 Town Square in Northtown are adorned with waterfowl art, testimony to the deep conviction of the occupant to duck hunting. After all, he is only one of three Missourians ever to have served as the national president of Ducks Unlimited.
Thing is, though, Preston Williams is an overachiever in whatever he takes a swing at – be it golf, law, hunting or any human persuasion. The band Coldplay is presently making a killing off the phrase Viva la Vida, but Preston has unmistakenly Lived the Life for nearly 90 years now.
Years ago, the noted attorney/outdoorsman told me that if you’re paying attention, something exciting will happen to you every day of your life. And if it’s not, it’s up to you to make something exciting happen.
Today, it’s my daily credo and anytime I visit Preston at 1 Town Square it’s hopefully not for him to get me out of my latest trouble, but for us to catch up on each of our latest exciting adventures.
As I waited in the outer office earlier this week, I again stood admiring the various waterfowl prints and the many stories he has accompanying each. A short time later as Peggy Palo escorted me back into the inner sanctum, Preston was fiddling with a small wooden box. Instinctively, I knew whatever it was he had in his grip would dominate our conversation for the next couple of hours.
“Look at this,” he said unassumingly as he pulled the lid back, revealing a colorful pin or medal-like object.
My first thought was that he’d received yet another award or recognition for his work involving waterfowl – or the bar association.
Instead, I saw a rainbow trout encircled by an oval with the words “25-Inch Club.” Before I could process this latest Preston Williams’ excitement, he handed me a second wooden box with a similar medallion. This one, however, read “Grand Slam Club.”
“But you’re a duck guy!” I needled him. “What’d you know about fishing?”
Of course, I knew better, but couldn’t resist an opportunity to irritate the lion king. But, as anyone who knows Preston will tell you, Preston Williams doesn’t get agitated – or at least that you’d ever be able to notice. Nor does he brag.
Yet, he is a proud man, and for good reason. Things come easily, but naturally for him. It would only be natural that on a recent fly-fishing trip to Colorado with his son Mark and his good buddy Dave Perkins each of them would score big. And wouldn’t it figure that an attorney of Preston’s dimension would have unrefutable proof beyond a pin that they had done so.
I only know what a 25-inch trout looks like from pictures. And the ones that Preston had strewn across his desktop were mind-boggling. I picked up the one of Preston and his guide Ted Relihane held with glee.
“A rainbow?” I asked.
“That my friend is a cutbow!” he barked, referring to the hybrid blend of cutthroat and rainbow trout.
It was an amazing catch, a beautiful fish. Preston explained that the cutbows are distinguished from cutthroats in that they have a spotty pattern more similar to a rainbow.
“What’d he weigh?” I asked, my eyes pinned on the trophy in the photo.
“Don’t know!”
“Don’t know?” I shot back. “Are you nuts!”
“Hey, you don’t have time to weigh ‘em,” he chided. “You don’t want to kill ’em. You catch ’em, get a picture and slip ’em back in the water as quickly as you can. Besides there were more fish to catch.”
“Preston, I’m sorry, I just didn’t know you were that much of a fly fisherman,” I blurted, risking a dirty look.
“What’re you talking about, that’s how I can remember my wife’s birthday.”
“I don’t get it,” I answered, “what’s Bernice’s birthday have to do with anything?”
“It’s March 1st … the same day as the trout opener in Missouri.”
“Ornery” is another word that comes to mind of my buddy Preston Williams.
I can only imagine what the week was like at the High Lonesome Ranch near Grand Junction, Colo., with these three. Each have a similar personality and outlook on the world, which probably explains why they have been doing just this kind of fishing trip together for the last decade or so.
Perkins is the former proprietor of the Kansas City SportShow and very much the equal of Preston and his son, Mark, when it comes to outdoor skills. And not only did Mark and Perkins also come home with the coveted 25-Inch Club pin, but also the Grand Slam Club award.
“It’s because we fished so intensely,” Preston said.
Why am I not surprised?
The Grand Slam Club is for those who catch five sub-species of trout in a day at the ranch, those being cutbow, rainbow, cutthroat, brown and brook trout.
“I wanted to do it in a half session,” Preston admitted. “I had caught a brown in the morning … and caught the other four species in the afternoon, so I was really trying to catch another brown in the afternoon in order to say I did it in half a day.”
Certainly catching five species in a single day as well as a 25-incher on the same trip is accomplishment enough for any fly fisherman. But to do it if when you have macular degeneration, as Preston does, is even more notable. It’s an eye disorder that greatly diminishes one’s ability to see detail. That’s where Relihane came into play.
“He’d tell me, ‘You’ve got two of ’em (trout) taking a look (at your fly), be ready.’” Williams explained. “I could feel the hit, then I’d  bring ’em and he’d scoop ’em out for me.”
Sounds like a simple enough plan, except that the process of fly fishing is a difficult task in itself.
“Trout fishing is not just throwing something into the water,” Preston said. “Fly fishing is an art and always a challenge.”
For Preston and his son Mark it was at one time an even greater challenge, but a sport that is meaningful for more than a large rainbow or even a couple dazzling pins.
Mark Williams was the last survivor pulled from the Hyatt disaster in 1981. That he was not the 115th victim is yet more testimony to his family’s determination and strength. Preston and Bernice would not let their son die.
“The next spring after Mark came out of the Hyatt we went down to Roaring River to fish (for trout),” Preston remembered. “Mark didn’t have any control of his left leg and his feet were just flopping around in the water. I’d hear a big splash and hear ‘Oops!’ and he’d be lying there in the water.
“Then we went up to Alaska to fly fish. We’d get in the stream, and I’d have to stand on Mark’s left leg to keep it from floating away. Here we were standing side-by-side, me standing on his leg to hold him down. I’d be casting from the left side, Mark from the right.”
About that time in our conversation, Mark called his dad’s office. Preston put him on the speaker phone and I commented to Mark that I didn’t believe his dad had had much of a good time during their recent trip. Mark, much like his dad, didn’t miss a beat and responded to my sarcastic jab at my buddy.
“No, I don’t think he had any fun at all,” Mark retorted. “Except that I think if Dave and I were going back tomorrow morning, dad would find a day to go with us.”
And not to be left out of the conversation, Preston, of course, had a rebuttal.
“No, I think about three days with you two was all I could take.”
“You know,” Mark chimed in, “I think that’s where dad and I disagree.”