Sunday, June 12, 2005

A Good Day Fishing is Better Than a Bad Day Wor. . . No, Wait. . . A Bad Day Fishing is Better Than a Good Day. . . Nevermind.

After a twelve hour shift at the desk, we still had enough light to head into the hills for a few hours of fishing. A and I debated on the 1/2 hour drive how many people would be at the lake, a tiny but well-stocked secret in the Snowies' foothills.

There was only a group of three other guys there, but what they lacked in physical presence they made up for in behavior. Picture the most redneck, backwards goombahs you've ever seen, add a wet and hyperactive mutt, and you'll have an idea. Actually they were pretty nice guys, but their fishing etiquette sucked - instead of catch-and-release they were keeping anything over eight inches. At one spot on the bank I came across the site of a recent fish massacre; at least 15 fish heads and guts strewn over rocks. Not cool.

A and I fished for two hours; me with my Wal*Mart spinner and A with his flyrod. I pulled in four and A pulled in a few more before a storm came up right at dusk. I think I could get addicted to this.


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