More happy fun day
You live for the weekends like this, where the sun shines, the weather is warm - and you've got no "entanglements."
Sunday was Happy Fun Day II.
I slept in (until 7:30 a.m., which is great for me) and went fishing. I caught nothing.
I drove 15 miles to Lake Shasta and hiked another four to fish the points of Bailey Cove.
I had dreams of a fish dinner (I bought take-out sushi and edamame later and will be just fine).
I relaxed.
I smiled.
I saw roughed grouse.
I stepped in bear shit (yeah, I know, look where you're going; I was looking at the water).
Mostly, I cast lures for fish I knew were there (I'm good, just not professional good - I don't have a boat, but I can flat-out fuckin' fish) and didn't care if they bit or not.
I tried for trout; I tried for bass.
I slipped lures off and on my Emmrod (seriously, click on the link - that's me in the masthead casting the Emmrod fly rod in the silly Peruvian wool hat) Mountaineer backpacking rod (I have a three-strikes theory on lures; if it isn't working, I'll cast three times - at 10, 12 and 2 o'clock, then change lures).
I like that it's called fishing and not catching; I would have been totally OK with a couple of grilled lake trout with fresh rosemary and lime, or bass tacos, but it is what it is. I cast; I lost (today).
Talked to dad - he's doing great without half a calf and no foot - and then went on a seven-mile hike with the Nordic poles.
I did the Sacramento River Trail loop from Diestelhorst Bridge to the north parking lot in 85 minutes (for those scoring at home, that's a 12-minute mile - not too fucking shabby).
Hyped up on endorfins, I braved Costco for edamame, sushi, three pounds of French roast coffee - I have a vacuum-sealer - latex gloves (hey I cook, I use them for prep work, sickos), and dog biscuits.
I mowed the lawn, then sat on my ass and talked to friends and siblings via cell phone (international incidents are brewing - and I thought I was over being the family pariah, but I guess not) .
It is somewhere near 5 p.m. as I write this; the sun is still up, but it is setting - it isn't raining yet, but the clouds are gathering - and I'm going out to sit in my front lawn (slathered with mosquito spray as the tiger mosquitoes are out) and watch the sun set over Shasta Bally.
I've talked to old friends, I've talked to siblings; I talked to my boss, who reminded me that I'm watching his three boys on Tuesday night (I promised we'd get in all sorts of good trouble) and I've got pre-packaged sushi and edamami in the fridge for when I freaken' feel like it.
I'm wearing sandals, a favorite old shirt and my "action pants," (put up for months in the closet because I had out-fat-assed them), because it's March 4 and I can.
Happy Fun Day, indeed.
Sunday was Happy Fun Day II.
I slept in (until 7:30 a.m., which is great for me) and went fishing. I caught nothing.
I drove 15 miles to Lake Shasta and hiked another four to fish the points of Bailey Cove.
I had dreams of a fish dinner (I bought take-out sushi and edamame later and will be just fine).
I relaxed.
I smiled.
I saw roughed grouse.
I stepped in bear shit (yeah, I know, look where you're going; I was looking at the water).
Mostly, I cast lures for fish I knew were there (I'm good, just not professional good - I don't have a boat, but I can flat-out fuckin' fish) and didn't care if they bit or not.
I tried for trout; I tried for bass.
I slipped lures off and on my Emmrod (seriously, click on the link - that's me in the masthead casting the Emmrod fly rod in the silly Peruvian wool hat) Mountaineer backpacking rod (I have a three-strikes theory on lures; if it isn't working, I'll cast three times - at 10, 12 and 2 o'clock, then change lures).
I like that it's called fishing and not catching; I would have been totally OK with a couple of grilled lake trout with fresh rosemary and lime, or bass tacos, but it is what it is. I cast; I lost (today).
Talked to dad - he's doing great without half a calf and no foot - and then went on a seven-mile hike with the Nordic poles.
I did the Sacramento River Trail loop from Diestelhorst Bridge to the north parking lot in 85 minutes (for those scoring at home, that's a 12-minute mile - not too fucking shabby).
Hyped up on endorfins, I braved Costco for edamame, sushi, three pounds of French roast coffee - I have a vacuum-sealer - latex gloves (hey I cook, I use them for prep work, sickos), and dog biscuits.
I mowed the lawn, then sat on my ass and talked to friends and siblings via cell phone (international incidents are brewing - and I thought I was over being the family pariah, but I guess not) .
It is somewhere near 5 p.m. as I write this; the sun is still up, but it is setting - it isn't raining yet, but the clouds are gathering - and I'm going out to sit in my front lawn (slathered with mosquito spray as the tiger mosquitoes are out) and watch the sun set over Shasta Bally.
I've talked to old friends, I've talked to siblings; I talked to my boss, who reminded me that I'm watching his three boys on Tuesday night (I promised we'd get in all sorts of good trouble) and I've got pre-packaged sushi and edamami in the fridge for when I freaken' feel like it.
I'm wearing sandals, a favorite old shirt and my "action pants," (put up for months in the closet because I had out-fat-assed them), because it's March 4 and I can.
Happy Fun Day, indeed.
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