Weaverville itself is a fine town, very picturesque not a traffic light or parking meter in town. Flowering baskets hang from the shop verandas and line the street. The towns population is only 3,500 but the County of Trinity would have all told about 13,000 people living in a mountain and forest area of 3,500 square miles. Its a laid back town, nobody is in a hurry, everyone drives pick up trucks and has a salmon rod on the back and a gun in the back window. Rosie and the Operator rolled into town eager to get out of the car after a long day driving. We walked the main street and decided to wet our whistle at a little unassuming bar called The Diggins, it was narrow and dim, stools lined the bar leading to a pool table down the back and leaner’s off to the side. If this bar could talk there would be many tales to tell, we met the owner, his father bought the bar in 1956 and it has been in the family ever since. Mounted animal heads festoon the walls, names are written in chalk on the red bricks, photos of family’s, fishing catches and sports team photos cram the bar alongside the obligatory obituary pictures of punters long gone, yep, this place has tales to tell.
So did Lloyd, Rosie and the Operator were quietly sitting at the end of the bar when larger than life Lloyd comes into the bar, gets a whiskey, talks to everyone that is in the bar then comes up to us and introduces himself. He said if there was anywhere he would like to go in the world it would probably be New Zealand, but why, he heard it was mighty like here and he loves it here. In his younger years he thought he might like to move to LA, he went for three days and came back and hasn’t left since. Rosie asked who was the main employer here in Weaverville…welfare, was the reply but they were luckier than most states, they could hunt and fish and live off the land. Plus, with a wink, Lloyd said there was others ways to earn some extra cash in Weaverville. Well, the beer and whisky were flowing, two rangy, weedy looking long haired droopy moustached Latino types walk in…Lloyd calls them over and asks how the day has been, shifty look out of the corner of the eye at us, all was good. Lloyd introduced them as Weavervilles finest skunkers, it was harvest time and they had just returned from ‘hiking’ so saying he went into shifty guys pocket and pulls out a joint and said here this is for you, no,no,no,no, shes right…he was having none of that so I took the joint off him and stuffed it down my bra. Transaction completed Rosie is now a law breaking drug user in the eyes of the US and Californian law….
We carried on drinking and chatting, Lloyd had over 58 guns up at his place, he BBQd sides of pig that he prepared himself from his farm, the bears are feeding for winter, they smell the pigs and come for them, I have shot 6 bears already this season, OK…..he wanted The Operator to come up to his place and shoot some of his more rarer guns, then they would prepare a pig and he would show us how a real American BBQd followed by a hunting session, Rosie was welcome to sit on the porch and sample his home brew and pat his mule while the men did men things….
It was a great night, Lloyd was drinking whiskey like their was no tomorrow, more people were coming over to chat, the lanky skunker put the jukebox on and OMG he danced like Michael Jackson, letting out high pitched squeals all in his own world. The room was starting to spin, Rosie and The Operator bid farewell to our new friend with the promises we would look him up if we were ever in that neck of the woods again.
As for the joint…you want to know if we smoked it……
No, Rosie and The Operator are too square, I was just gonna throw it away, sensibly the Operator said a school kid may pick it up…..we shredded it and threw it to the wind….wonder how sensitive drug dogs noses are at the airport?
