I am not really a gambler. Not with money, anyways. I have always found it strange to take something that I have, that's mine, in my possession, and give it away to pull a handle or push a button or take a busting hit.
But there was something about this machine, this dollar...
Fishing is my favorite gamble. Incalculable time, effort, money, mental anguish, preparatory inadequacies of the mind and muscle born of a desire for just a sample.
Smoking dreams down to the filter with a blistered finger and a hat full of rain.
...so wheels spun and the machine spit out a ticket that was within forty cents of the calculated dollar amount of gas and food for the trip.
Affirmation printed in black and blue ink, handed to the congratulating smile behind the counter, and counted out in faded twenty-dollar bills.
The new york steak wasn't bad either.
Them Damn Fishes
The storm clouds were screaming silently low, just out of reach and across the treetops. There is always something disconcerting about clouds that move this fast, as if they are running from some unseen terribleness. It makes me feel like running, too.
What an innocent view from above on the whim of the wind; highs and lows commanding participation in precipitation with little rebuttal but muttered curses from those who forgot to check if they packed their rain gear as they move with rarely seen haste towards anything with a roof or overhang.
On the second day we took a run at the fishes from boats, meandering around the little sister lake of the one pictured above. There were fish, and they played with us a little under the overcast and between rains, eating swimming things, and suspended things and things that run away.
|C-Daddy Get Some|
The next morning, at least for me, was most of the purpose of the trip: the pre-dawn bank cruising browns of a high mountain lake which I angle most often in the summer when the big fish are lethargic. The clouds were especially in a hurry this AM, and I picked the good spot that was the most advantageous to both finding brown trout and casting in the southern wind and went to work.
I worked it hard and good and was rewarded with only a few small but angry rainbows and a couple seconds of rod-rattling fight by something with poundage before being put back in my place. The sun came out to take a peek at the silly men playing with nature, but was quickly bored with the lack of action and went away. Mother N. scheduled a little more rain just to be a dick. Aaron caught his best fish from this particular lake. Then it was time to leave.
|Aaron the Proud captor.|