Spring break and the ladies of my clan
decide to head down to sunny St. Geezie. As much fun as being stuffed into a
hotel with a bunch of teenaged girls and one lovely 40 something year old
mother sounds, I opt to stay home. Also I really am buried with a lot of work.
A day or two before they leave, the Beez, decides to stay home with me, and go
camp/fish for one night. Our destination: Holy Water and Dessert Nirvana.
Colby is planning on meeting us there
at least one of the days. We pull up to the spot we normally park, and his car
is there along with about 6 other vehicles. It just sucks when every Yahoo in
the state hears about one of your special places. You can go on line and watch
video of people talking about the experience here, and they pretty much walk
you right to the water. I suspect the net has done that with every river across
the country. I have probably added to the problem. People can look at my pics
on my blog and figure out every river based upon the information.
We meet up at a hole we refer to as “The
Greek Whore,” Colby actually named it that; I think in retaliation to all the
New Testament names. I suspect his goal was to add a little flavor to the
names. Like any good whore, she put out; but not until she first taunted with
us with the wind. Once you have figured out one or two of these fish, you know
you are in store for a great day of hooking up.
The brought the dogs, little Blain was
just beside himself with curiosity when he would see a fish come it to the
shore. Check out the pic of him deciding whether he’s going to run or attach
the brown on the end of the line.
We get back to Nirvana with just enough
light to find some fire wood, and get our Dutch oven dinner ready. Dessert Nirvana is some property I have in
the area. It’s currently just land, but the hope is that one day I will have
some money to put a little cabin there. But for now, just sitting by the camp
fire, poking at the stew in the Dutch is fantastic. Walking away from the fire
is amazing. The moon is full, the air clean and brisk, and the feeling of just
not being in the city renews me. I just don’t get to do this enough. I need to
spend more time sitting at a camp fire watching the flames.
In the morning we decide to drive to
Rock Creek. She has to be back home by about 5:00 to go to class, so I use the
few precious hours to throw a Fat Albert to the hungry little fish. As I start
out walking up river, I don’t see any fish feeding off the top, so I add a
dropper. I catch a bunch of little ones, off a Prince Nymph. Like a switch being
turned on the top of the water is just boiling. I don’t even think I will have
to match the hatch, but just stick with Albert. Sure enough they are as happy
to eat him as they are the midge coming off.
I make us some brats with fresh sauerkraut.
There is just something right about a brat in the mountains. But then again it
seems like anything you BBQ in the hills tastes delicious. I don’t want to
drive back home, instead I want to stay for about a week, fish, Dutch oven cook
,and watch a fire for days on end. Actually I want to stay for as long as I
want, to wallow in it until I say “enough, no more fish, food and fun.” We got
home in time for her to go to class, and I took a shower and went back to work.
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