An hour before sunrise, an inky blue light oozes into the cracks of a black sky as pickups pulling battered drift boats clatter down
the empty streets of Sandy. Some head straight for the river, bumping down twisting roads toward the icy rush of water. Some, like a lone angler in an old Ford, have a stop to make first. He jerks his rig to the curb along a deserted U.S. 26, hops from the cab and jogs toward the warm glow of the town firehouse. Minutes later he’s settled into a chair at the far end of one of seven rows of tables. Wordless, he gobbles down the plate of ham, fried eggs and pancakes. Within eight minutes he’s scampering out the door, rolling on toward the Sandy. Saturday marked the opening of the trout season. And just as it has for nearly a half-century, for thousands of locals, that means a stop at the firehouse for the annual all-night sportsman’s breakfast. Inside the station, where bays have been cleared to make way for the feed, Glenn Yeager slumps in a chair, his eyes heavy. Through the night, he’s been running the show. Emergency work is in his blood. His mother worked for the old Alpine Ambulance service. Both his father and his stepdad volunteered at the fire department.
“Mom used to throw me in the El Camino and take me out to house fires when I was in diapers.”