The Kern

I took a drive past Bakersfield into the Kern valley. I hadn’t been up that way before and I wasn’t sure what to expect. We left early in the morning Lou and I, we thought we’d get some fishing in at lake Isabella. I’m not much of a fisherman. The thought of killing fish doesn’t excite me. I was there more for the ride then anything else.

We drove up the grapevine and then came down into the San Joaquin valley and there was a blanket of fog awaiting us. From above it looked like we might have a tough time driving through it. The fog looked thick and dangerous. It wasn’t as bad as looked once we were inside it.

We drove through a bleak section of town. It seemed people were hoarding junk. Their lawns were filled we things that didn’t work, cars, refrigerators, boats. The poor had more than the rich and it was in their backyards.

We stopped to have breakfast in a small town called Bodfish. I’m sure there was a meaning behind the name, but upon walking into the diner it fell silent, so I couldn’t ask without spooking someone. It was a bad energy hush that came upon the room. The kind of hush you see in westerns. I looked around the diner, nothing but old people.

Bodfish was dying. But the food was good. It was expensive for what it was, and in a small town like Bodfish you’d think it would be cheaper. There’s something about suspicious people that makes me suspicious. It seems to me suspicious people are protecting something. It had to be more of an idea, a concept then something tangible. The town was poor and the people who occupied it didn’t look all that smart. I suppose once you got to know them, they were all right.

We found out that the dam that holds Lake Isabella back was suffering from seepage. The water was low because of it. Lou and I found ourselves driving around looking for something to do after that. The idea of fishing went out the door when we saw the lake. It looked sad. It looked more like a pond than a lake. It was so low.

We stopped in Kernville and found a heritage museum. There were two ladies sitting behind the desk. One of the ladies liked us and she gave us a tour of the place. As it turned out she was an interesting lady. Her husband was Bob Powers a fifth generation cowboy who grew up in The Kern valley. He wrote nine books on the area and had a mountain peek named after him. He was a real interesting fellow.

Merge was the woman’s name. She told us a story about Johnny Powers who was an one legged sheriff. Johnny formed a posse to find and kill an Indian but the Indian killed him instead. Poor Johnny. He didn’t live but twenty-seven years.