Coin operated showers sealed our fate, and if the “Mormon Tabernacle” in the next campsite could’ve held a tune on the Conga Drums, we might not have had to show ourselves and chase their womenfolk away.
Paddling around the lake for 12 hours a day doesn’t breed sophistication in dining. Black dark doesn’t assist much, but it’ll hide the worst of the culinary transgressions..
“Did you just put Toothpaste on my steak?”
“Oops, sorry – It looked like the steak sauce bottle.”
“That’s OK, put more on I’m starving .. ”
“Oh my god, you just drank the dish water!”
“I did? Was kind of bland, pass me something colder.”
I can only wonder what the neighbor’s thought – our campsite was peaceful and deserted from dawn till dark, then some land yacht squeals to a stop with 3 tubes on the roof. The unkempt and unshowered wolves emerge, take down a bison, char the edges, rend it to pieces, then start snoring.
The glottal kind, add three different pitches and even the Black Bears left us alone.
Smoke from the Butte Lightning Complex was thick, and that allowed me and the rest of “McHale’s Navy” to doctor our hooks with whatever we squirreled away in float tube pockets. “Skipper” brought some ungodly Peanut Butter protein bar that tasted better after it was run over twice by the vehicle, but despite the embedded gravel made a handsome facsimile for Power Bait.
After finning around the lake all day, I wasn’t about to waste my remaining larder on damn trout, I’ll take the gravel, you eat the bugs.
We’ll cover the fish stories tomorrow, right now sleep and a shower sound better.
Showers are for wimps!
steak? Come on, man!
Can’t wait to hear all the gory details.
I hesitate to reveal my true orientation, but Conga Drums keep a BEAT not a tune.
And the “womenfolk” I have seen around the drum circle have armpit hair to rival mine—which could be braided if I got drunk enough—and I doubt they would “chase off” all that easily by a bunch of slightly overweight dudes replete in their button-up IT shirts wearing Orvis vests.
Besides, once you got within nose-shot, the “herbal-infused” air would have you guys beating on the bottom of your buckets singing Bob Marley tunes…”easy skanking….skankin it slow…”
No stitches? No travel disasters? No wiffleball games? And you call this a blog-worthy trip?
Oatka: I hope you’re referring to those available while fishing … and not all of them in general! Dude, Hardcore.
Daytripper: I saw that “grease grenade” you pounded on your last outing, a colon is a damned delicate instrument – and age is a harsh mistress.
TravelWriter: the fact that you’re conversant with the concept – has earned you a shunning.
TC: We fished, no foreplay like you’re accustomed to – just damp arse and sharp hooks, no peanut intolerant loges or reserved seating.
N o R a s p b e r r y P i e
I’d just like to hear a story that for the first time this year, did not start or finish with a broken rod…with or without an r on the grip.