Like Tom Chandler I mourn those fabled fishing lunches , but if you have to drive more than two hours to fish, dining is like crapping, required, but kept at arm’s distance.

Hardened fishermen lack the servants and fine cutlery of TC’s Maine adventure , but as woodsmen and survivalists we always have a “three star” culinary pit stop close at hand, the Chevron Minimart.

One star is for gas, one is for restrooms, and the last is either the cuisine, or the freeway onramp, I’m never one to quibble…

The entree, Jalapeno Beef Jerky. A piquant mix of searing flame with a hint of bovine.

Beef requires a full bodied “red” – and the overly warm Diet Dr. Pepper is a lifesaver, especially near the bottom of the jerky bag, when the Jalapeno stifles rational thought and the frantic reach for liquid is purely defensive.

A handful of blackberries from the thorn bush you fell in, matched with a partially trod upon banana completes the repast.

The Kashi Bar is to guarantee that once you’re cinched and buckled into the waders you can “cork” the entire gastro-intestinal tract, so there’s no need to tear the gear off as you bunny hop for the restroom.

We spurn “Glam-pers” but recognize Berry Pie when we see it. The “No Fat, No Crust” kind, enough sugar to pull your way up the bank and realize you have no recognizable landmarks.

A fire and a follow on nap would be nice, but a road flare and damp waders will have to do.