Gone Fishing

Check out that proud-of-himself grin!

Dixon Lake, Escondido in the '80's

"Gone Fishing" that's what I should have left on the last post so ya'll would know where we have been the last couple of days. My scathingly brilliant idea was to surprise my kids by whisking them away to the wilds of Lake Skinner for a week. We would bike, hike, play, sketch in our nature notebooks, fish and have fun while leaving all our cares behind us. I wanted to laugh and enjoy my kids again--you know I shared that I have been a bit grim and grumpy. I was leaving my "thinking mind" behind--no big philosophical questions to ponder just sunshine and A LOT of exercise. So they would plop into their sleeping bags exhausted after our nightly campfire and s'mores. Doesn't that all sound nice?

You know where this is going don't you? We had a camping trip that will remain in the annals FOREVER as THE WORST trip ever. But I can laugh about it. I bet Bryan would too! There is just too much to list in the snafu section so let me just list here for posterity: screeching alarm, no heat, changing propane tanks in the middle of the night, the toothless, patch-eyed Park Ranger, sleep walking/night talking baby who shared our bed, barfing, raining, and not a single fish to be caught. There is more--but you get the idea. And I thought I would sit in the sun and read/journal/write some thank-you notes while my kids explored nature. NOT! I didn't even get my pen out.

So we are home. And I am back to blogging. I should tell you, my brother didn't like fishing too much. Honestly, I think it was just a bit too much sitting for him. My daddy came to share the fine art of casting with my kids (he is left-handed, you should see Reilly throw out her line!) so I sat with him on the shore of the lake today and asked him to share some stories with me about him and Bryan fishing. So while Kate was amusing us with her theatrics, Aidan was scavenging for rusty hooks and old weights, Peter was trying to swim in a no-contact lake, and Samuel was patiently waiting for a nibble, my daddy talked.

My dad loves fishing (just the right amount of sitting for him) and I know he took Bryan often. The Kern River was a family favorite all my life. So we all grew up fishing. Dad and Bryan went out to Diamond Lake when it first opened. Bryan was jazzed--reeling in a large trout. Right as he was about to bring it in--his reel and rod just crumpled into pieces and the BIG ONE got away. Heard that before? Me too. I can't confirm the veracity of this story :0.

Another time, my dad, my grandpa and my brother went out to Dixon Lake for some generational bonding. The three of them got up before daylight and made a spot for themselves on shore fishing. The whining started with the first raindrops. Bryan wanted to go home. Dad wanted to stay. Fish always bite in the rain--they think the raindrops are insects on the surface. At least that is what I am told. Grandpa was a softy, Daddy was a die-hard. Grandpa took Whiner home. Dad stayed. When Grandpa returned for him, Dad said he caught 15 trout. Again, I cannot confirm or deny the truth of these fishing tales. I am just the narrator.

I think I remember deep sea fishing with Bryan one time when we were teens but the details are foggy. I will try to convince my dad to share some more of his stories. You are gonna bust a gut when you hear about his hunting adventures with Bryan. They will make my Nightmare Camping Trip sound like a 5star vacation.