Sunday, August 7, 2011
Testament of a Fisherman: Robert Traver
For as long as I can recall little cricks such as the one above and the wild trout that live there have provided us countless hours of fun, solitude and, perhaps most important, our way to escape the madness everyday life in the 21st century demands. Lately though even in the woods it seems finding anything like solitude is fast disappearing. For instance yesterday as we rigged up to fish vehicle after vehicle--trucks, cars, dirt bikes, you name it--sped past (most by the way in a cloud of dust, as if the race was on to see who could get to wherever first), this on a forest road where until a year or so ago we seldom saw anyone, except for maybe a holiday weekend and of course once big game season kicked in.
Today at least we had the crick to ourselves for a couple hours anyway then...As we fished our way back Gale spotted a riser and began carefully stalking into casting range we heard the unmistakable growl of a diesel pickup slow to stop, backup and...you guessed it... park.
Gale said, "Did that truck just park next to ours?"
"Sounds like it..."
Whoee baby, with miles of empty crick to fish, these four a_____s apparently thought we needed/wanted company...And well with that I guess better end the rant, don't want to risk a total meltdown ya know...