(From “Diaries...) The Poacher's Cabin February 4: This is crazy! I’m dehydrated, my screaming legs are on the verge of cramping, and I’m wading down the middle of a tributary I’ve never been on–all in near-total darkness. Even if I had a flashlight, any landmarks would be meaningless. I press on, one gingerly-placed step at a time, and hope–that my next step won’t be a plunge deep into water over my head! Finally, well after dark–and nearly ten miles from my starting point–the bridge and road I am looking for finally appear ahead in the faint moonlight. I spill out onto the road and collapse, exhausted but relieved. A chorus of barking dogs quicky explodes. In seconds, I see their grizzled owner stirring in his dimly lit shack by the river, then calmly shuffling out towards me. Only later will I learn that his name to everyone is simply, Billy (pseudonym), and that he is a legend here. Though playing it strickly by the legal book now, after too many convictions to chronicle, for nearly four decades he reined unchallenged as one of the most notorious and preeminent poachers along the whole coast. I will also eventually learn that his ‘take’ of wild pigs and deer alone from the Gualala watershed numbered into the hundreds. And I will hear the macabre story of how several in his family died from eating one such pig–a prize boar that they failed to properly handle and cook. Later too, I’ll have to tactfully steer the conversations away from any talk of the numbers of poached steelhead and salmon that may have graced his plates. I just don’t want to know. Instead, I’ll work the positive angle I discover during our relationship: the many secrets about steelhead biology buried in his 40 years of memories in pursuit of them. Some of these secrets will prove to be genuine gems-of-knowledge–things I won’t find in the books and scientific articles written about this unique and wonderful fish.