Words: Ken Morrish 2021-11-16 08:47:59
After completing training in Corpus Christi, TX, Ross Miles awaits his Marine Corps assignment in 1941. Photo: Courtesy of Ross Miles Ross and Susie Miles are a special and charming couple. Last summer, I followed them down southern Oregon’s Upper Rogue River as they fished the salmonfly hatch with guide Paul McDonald. Susie had helped Ross to the boat, and gladly turned the bow seat over to him as she set up shop in the stern. It was the right thing to do, as 2021 marked the 70th anniversary of Ross’ first flyfishing trip to the Rogue. More noteworthy, though, is that on his first trip, in 1951, he was already 30 years old. Do the math. Though it’s probable there have been, and possibly currently are, other actively flyfishing centenarians, aside from Ross I have never met or heard of one. Born in San Francisco in 1921, three years later Miles’ family moved to Santa Cruz where he was introduced to fishing. “It was a great small place to live where just about everyone knew everybody,” Miles says. “My father worked at the local newspaper and was particularly well-connected. When I was nine or so, Prohibition was in full swing and my father would occasionally get a call from one of his ‘informants’ that a shipment of booze had come in and had been discreetly sunk in the rearing ponds of our local fish hatchery. My father would reach out to his inner circle and take their orders, then we would head up to the ponds and I would get to fish while the adults did their business. “It wasn’t hard fishing, but it was fun and set me on a lifelong path of fishing, for which I must thank those responsible for sinking the booze.” Then, as now, the Santa Cruz coastline offered ideal conditions for surfing, including a famous break at the mouth of the San Lorenzo River that was first ridden in 1885. Miles’ first surfboard was more than 14 feet long, had no fins to speak of and weighed a bit over 100 pounds. Surfing remained a high priority until, at age 15, he decided to concentrate on learning the finer points of flyfishing. At 16, he landed his first steelhead near the San Lorenzo river mouth—a dime-bright, eight-pound hen caught in tidewater using a cane rod, silk line and gray hackle peacock fastened to a gut leader, all purchased from the Herter’s catalogue. The thrill proved addictive—and for a while problematic in terms of school attendance. Principal Walter Elmer had strong words with Miles, but they reached an understanding when he brokered a deal to deliver Mr. Elmer a fresh fillet each morning he arrived tardy from the river. Miles both elected to and was forced into growing up early. His father’s health suffered due to mustard gas exposure in World War I, which meant Ross became the keeper of the family store when he was in high school. Upon graduation he attended San Jose State College to pursue aviation, and in 1941 transferred into the Marine Corps in Corpus Christi, TX. Days before his scheduled graduation, Japan bombed Pearl Harbor and soon thereafter Miles shipped out as a Marine pilot to fight in the South Pacific and Solomon Islands. In Guadalcanal, he made more than 50 supply and medical evacuation flights, many under active fire. It was there that he lost friends and he lost his hearing, and with the loss of his hearing went his dream of becoming a career pilot. Still, live as long as Miles has, and you’ll find ample opportunities to re-create yourself. Prior to WWII, his first job was as a “ring boy” running a merry-go-round on the Santa Cruz boardwalk. Then came gigs as a shopkeeper and gas station attendant. After the war, he worked as a cowboy on the 38,000-acre Paicines Ranch near Hollister, CA; as a special education director; a developer; and finally—his favorite job—a sought-after domestic and international Sierra Club guide. In his time with the Sierra Club, Miles led countless trips to locations as varied as the Grand Canyon, the Caucasus Mountains and Soviet-era Yugoslavia, as well as canoe trips in Sweden and horse-trekking trips in Kenya at the height of the wildebeest migration. He is a traveler in the truest sense, not preoccupied with the destination but focused on the journey. He has visited 57 countries and, though the appeal of extended expeditions has lessened with age, his desire to travel is as strong as ever. Though it’s probable there have been, and possibly currently are, other actively flyfishing centenarians, aside from Ross Miles I have never met or heard of one. Along the way he’s met some intriguing characters. One of them was Duke Kahanamoku, legendary Hawaiian Olympian and father of modern surfing, who was a close childhood friend of Miles’ father. Later in life, when Kahanamoku visited the Miles home in Santa Cruz, he always insisted on eating Miles’ mother’s homemade ravioli. During World War II, Miles crossed paths with then-lieutenant Richard Nixon, who tasked Miles with procuring 40 pounds of ground beef so “his boys” could enjoy burgers deep in the humid South Pacific. In another chance encounter over breakfast on the remote island of Munda, a lean, older pilot in a distinctive blue jumper appeared and eventually introduced himself as Charles Lindbergh. They agreed to have dinner after Lindbergh completed a test flight, but Miles was deployed unexpectedly and missed their date. So he has stories to tell, but he doesn’t seem to dwell on them. The morning we fished the Rogue, Susie confided that Miles had been getting his gear together for two days and had set his “mental alarm clock” extra early on game day because he was so excited to fish. He hit it hard, fishing every moment with intent and anticipation, and fired off some loops to be proud of. “It isn’t some tonic I drink every day, but I do feel that a good, dry gin martini or two fingers of a single malt helps,” Miles says, but he is careful to speak only for himself—he knows generalizations and prescriptions for how to live a long life are, in some ways, pointless. He’s been lucky. A feisty, charismatic and caring wife 24 years his junior has certainly helped, as has genetic good fortune and a general attitude and philosophy about what entails a life well-lived. “I love to live,” Miles says in the most matter-of-fact way. His eyes are bright and twinkle with optimism and what I interpret to be a gracious and resigned type of gratitude. When he speaks to me, or anyone, his attention is utterly undivided. He is present in a way I have always envied. “I always have a purpose,” he continues, “be it as simple as a to-do list. I willingly accept all forms of challenge and I have a really hard time accepting defeat. The past cannot be changed, so I always look forward and try to see all that lies before me through a lens of purpose and profound positivity.”
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