This is no Fish Tale

Oh the joyous occasion that is family camping! Sometimes I wonder why we do it to ourselves…no showers, smelly bathrooms and lurking critters in the shadows. It’s ironic, we put our food under lock and key every night and yet we sleep outside, where the only thing to protect us from them is meager threads of nylon and a maglight. And we are supposed to be the smart ones? Hmmm…

Anyway, back to camping. On Wednesday evening Tyler, James and I ventured up to Linx Lake (near Prescott) to join the remainder of the Smith crew for some good old fashion Camping. Thankfully, they had already set up camp, complete with a delicious dutch-oven dinner and roaring campfire. The following morning after some authentic chorizo burritos (compliments of Monica and Tyler) we were off to the lake to catch us some fresh trout. But, first, as always, we had to stop by the local Wal-Mart. Nowadays, no camping trip is complete without one…or two visits. I believe, our three -day-excursion totaled three different trips! Outlandish you say? I concur! With fishing license in hand, and powerbait on hook we were primed and ready to reel those bad boys in. If you are unfamiliar with powerbait, it’s akin to a kindergarten craft gone terribly awry (glittery specs, neon colors, foul odor)!

In our modest efforts to track down the superior fishing spot James, Ethan and I traveled to the other side of the lake. After a bit of a hike, James and Ethan decided to go ahead and check it out. I stayed behind with all the gear. I got a little weary and decided to rest my legs. Unannounced to me, a small section of some incredibly prickly shrubbery had found its way into my pants. When I realized what the perverted little bush had done I quickly jumped to my feet to scorn that thing for violating me so. Silly me…what was I thinking? Following my simple-minded move to stand up, gravity stepped in and did its job and all the little spikes started making their way down my pants- passed the thighs, to the calves, and eventually excavating their way into my socks. With no shelter in sight, I proceeded to disrobe while my trusty husband gently removed the bristly tyrants from my once unscathed legs. After the foliage debacle, we ventured to our seemingly perfect fishing spot to score us some dinner. But to our dismay, by days’ end our fish total was a mere 3 (Tyler-2, Dad-1). We headed back to camp a little discouraged, but determined that Friday would be better. After a rousing rendition of “stare at the campfire” it was time to hit the sack.

Friday morning we headed back to the lake and started fishing again. Finally, we found a fish dumb enough to take the bait. F.T.R. (for the record), because James didn’t have a fishing license I caught the first fish of the day, and then legally and legitimately caught the second as well. These 2 little buggers were currently costing me $16 a piece. Meanwhile, three little brutes and their portly grandmother plopped down beside us and just start reeling in the fish. One after another the little tike's went well over their trout limit. The rest of us were becoming quite enraged. We wanted to snip their lines and shatter their poles. However, we endured the day and withstood temptation, although James may have accidentally and inadvertently slingshotted a few rocks near their lines in the lake! Oops- blame it on bad aim! Eventually, we left and decided to come back in the evening when the bugs are out and the fish are feeding.

A few hours later, with our lowly poles and humble tackle boxes in hand, we challenged the lake one final time. We even strategized by varying our weights to hooks to bait ratio. Low and behold, within 10 minutes and first cast, Ethan had a fish, and then I reeled in fish #3, followed by fish # 2 for Ethan. This was unparalleled to our two previous fishing endeavors. Joshua soon caught wind of our fish nirvana and joined in the fun. By nightfall our fish total was up to an admirable 13 beautiful rainbow trout. We victoriously headed back to camp to show off fishy accolade. After the five of us cleaned and gutted our baker’s dozen, and a few upchuck reflexes from Monica watching us (she was the designated flashlight holder) our fishing event had come to a close.

After four days in the woods, we were ready to head home and hit the showers. What an eventful voyage! Monica had her first up-close encounter with multiple javelinas, skunks, a tarantula, and mounds of fish entrails, which meets the requirements necessary to officially be a part of this family. But alas, no camping trip is absolute without a stimulating game of ‘choices and chances.’ So, in true L. Dale tradition, we introduced James and Monica to the “game”. And I do use the word game loosely. It was basically a way for all the kids/grandkids to get a hold of some chocolate from their dear old grandpa. Oh tradition! The whole outing was a superb way to spend the last few days of my fall break. No broken bones or burnt extremities; just a bunch of dirty relatives with a stockpile of appetizing trout…and that’s no fish tale.