I'm off to the mountains with the boyo (he's driving!) and my nephew to join Mom & Dad. They left a week ago. By the time we get there, camp will already be set up, firewood will already have been gathered, the boat will be in the water, and the first thing Dad will want to know is when we want to go fishing.
We go to a lake in northeastern California. The exact location cannot be divulged. Let's just say it's about as far east and as far north as you can get without being in Nevada or Oregon. High desert. Cattle country. Beautiful in the summer. Sometimes inaccessible in the winter. Worth. The. Drive.
Dad's the Master of the Lake. The Old Guy Who Knows Where the Fish Are. We troll at a very slow speed - sometimes so slow that the engine konks out - with lures and worms. It's so quiet and peaceful on the lake, even while the engine chug-chug-chugs along. We watch the "action" at the tip of the rods that's generated by the lure trolling along behind us through the water. The lure catches the fishies' attention and the worm, which is on a foot-long leader, comes along a scant second later and the fish thinks, "Lunch!" and strikes. The tip of the rod dips sharply one, two, three times, then you jerk upwards with the rod and reel like crazy.
Dad has taught all of his children and most of his grandchildren how to fish. He could teach anyone how to fish. As long as you do what he says, you will catch at least one fish. I have never been skunked while fishing with Dad. And I'm not squeamish, not about the worms, or about cleaning the fish. Kids tend to fall into two categories: those who are extremely interested in the insides of a fish, and those who think it's yucky. Both of my kids fall into the second category.
The lake is stocked with rainbow trout, but once in a while you catch a fat native with pink flesh, or a slick brook trout, or a big (4-6 lb.) German brown. It's been three years since I've been able to join Mom and Dad on this trip. Three long, troutless years.
I will, of course take some knitting along for non-fishing moments. Socks, I think, that don't require too much thought. And I'll be taking this as well:
It's the Nikon Coolpix 8800. Didn't take me long to decide. It came from here overnight. I'm talkin' ordered Tuesday just after noon and received at my office in less than 24 hours. Now I have to learn how to use this 10X optical zoomer with all the bells and whistles.
Hopin' for some nice wildlife shots. And, of course, a stringer full of fat trout.