The Chair
Natch, Feral and I own backpack tents in case of over-nighters. No sense dragging a tent camper for a fast trip. Dispersed camping, our first shot at camping under Covid-19 restrictions, was allowed on the last weekend of May so we organized a fast trip to a remote spot on big hill overlooking the Pine River in Lake County. We had camped there before but it had been a lot of years. We cleaned up the spot with rakes, a fore-thought. It rained on Friday so I bought a couple bundles of firewood in Tustin. Natch usually brings a chainsaw but he was traveling light.
We were interested in fishing but somehow just getting together to hang loose and drink beer was more important. I bought crawlers with that in mind. We are not bait fishermen but it is a recurring theme. An excuse really, not a theme, to set up chairs along the stream, drink a six, and joke about stuff. We launch crawlers into the river with no real expectation of success. If someone catches a trout, and it has happened, it is an incentive to send someone back to camp for more beer.
Our first bait fishing spot (see 1st photo) was on a big bend a half mile downstream from camp. (Yes, we actually toted chairs, coolers, bait and poles that far through tick infested woods.) A geologist might remark on the unusual topography of the river. Opposite us, on the other side, you can see a heavily eroded sheer wall with trees roots exposed. Also a white plastic lawn chair. After a few beers that chair started taking on a life of it’s own. First as a future painting with an unabashed women sitting in it, unaware of three fishermen below. From there it turned into a movie script with ramped up suspense and Natch directing. That’s the thing about getting together with these two characters. Conversation can go anywhere and often does.
Natch and Feral
We stumbled back into camp after dark ready for a campfire and hot meal. Natch brought a store-bought forked stick hot dog holder I initially laughed at but came to appreciate quickly because the next thing I knew I was gulping down a cheese brat on a bun and not bothering with the ketchup because that was too much work. Then we had a crisis where the fire was dying and darned if Natch didn’t magically transform the fire into a perfect piece of cubism art.
Generally speaking we accomplished everything we needed to accomplish over the weekend. Which is to say: nothing. Based on that I am tempted to call it trout camp but we’ve tentatively planned a trip in June after the State Forest campgrounds open. Might include guitars and a detour even further into the Twilight Zone.
Fichigan 