Irrelevant
Well-known member
This is a continuation of some short stories I've written for our local Sportsman's association newsletter
A Father’s Day to Forget
As most Fathers are want to do, and our families are obliged to follow along with, I made wondrous plans for this last Father’s Day that completely centered around me while superficially pretending it was also about the Family. Seeing as how it’s “my” day- I mean our day, I picked a fun little family hike up to an alpine lake that holds some pretty, not-so-little, brook trout (and tasty too!). Now I’m not entirely sure why I’ve fallen so hard for brook trout, especially as they’re a non-native migrate to Washington while I’m an adamant supporter of all our native flora and fauna, but I can’t help it, they were the fish I caught with my grandfather and are still my favorite fish to this day.
This hike started like all others…late. Very late. But at least I didn’t have to cook breakfast… Oh wait, yes I did.
But once on the road and up to the trailhead all the morning's frustrations melted away. For maybe 30 seconds. Before I got my first mosquito bite. Then another. And another. Then three at once, while I swore, swatted, and searched in vain for some deet.
The rest of the family fared no better. Before the dog was out of the truck I was hearing it from all the members. “Ouch!” “G------it” “S--t!” and that was just the 7 year old!
After a liberal dosing of our favorite carcinogen- I prefer a blend of both deet and picaridin- we set off down the trail.
Like the fearless leader I am, I assured my irritated followers that it would soon fade away. All we needed was to gain a little elevation and get away from this river. Soon we’d leave all these bugs for the dry wildlife flower filled forest that comprised most of the hike.
Unfortunately we had to first cross a river at peak runoff, across a series of partially connected logs that formed a log jam of certain death should someone fall in.
Even less unfortunately even after we successfully crossed the logs-of-death obstacle course, and I’d successfully faried all members across the TWO(!) large flood water sloughs that also blocked our path (thankfully Dads don’t like dry boots), the bugs did not wane. They did not diminish. They did not stop the onslaught for blood.
At mile 2, I’d resorted to a steady neurotic routine that included wiping my right arm with my left, then left arm with my right, then forehead, slap one or both knees and calves, make a swipe across my neck, then repeat- every 15 seconds. About every 5 minutes I would assure everyone we were almost out of them! Just a bit more!
We never left them, or I should say they never left us.
Have you ever seen a “Kiniption”? I mean an honest to goodness full-blown 2-year-old tantrum from an adult? I have, and it’s kind of like a deeply religious experience where someone is so overtaken by the Spirit that they speak in tongues. It’s like that, but the opposite. My wife on two separate occasions completely lost it and went screaming and flailing off into the woods shouting a mix of gobblity gook and profanity, denouncing this hike, this day, our marriage, and dang near life itself, as she tried in vain to escape the buzzing swarm.
The kids complained but not much. Not until the next morning did I see that I had raised two buddist monks. They apparently had completely accepted their lots in life and had not even attempted to combat the vicious horde of biting bugs. My poor daughter’s entire face was swollen and she looked like she had chicken pox on steroids.
To cut a painful story short, we eventually made it to the lake, which was partially covered in ice, but at such an elevation did have slightly fewer ‘skeeters as the shore was still lined with many feet of snow. I caught some brookies, both kids lost some lures, and no one died. That’s the point I’d really like to make. Let’s not get all distracted in the negative, in the end, everyone came home…that’s what really matters. That, and a month later I still haven’t been served with divorce papers! But I’m keeping my fingers crossed, and trying to think of a better activity for next year.
A Father’s Day to Forget
As most Fathers are want to do, and our families are obliged to follow along with, I made wondrous plans for this last Father’s Day that completely centered around me while superficially pretending it was also about the Family. Seeing as how it’s “my” day- I mean our day, I picked a fun little family hike up to an alpine lake that holds some pretty, not-so-little, brook trout (and tasty too!). Now I’m not entirely sure why I’ve fallen so hard for brook trout, especially as they’re a non-native migrate to Washington while I’m an adamant supporter of all our native flora and fauna, but I can’t help it, they were the fish I caught with my grandfather and are still my favorite fish to this day.
This hike started like all others…late. Very late. But at least I didn’t have to cook breakfast… Oh wait, yes I did.
But once on the road and up to the trailhead all the morning's frustrations melted away. For maybe 30 seconds. Before I got my first mosquito bite. Then another. And another. Then three at once, while I swore, swatted, and searched in vain for some deet.
The rest of the family fared no better. Before the dog was out of the truck I was hearing it from all the members. “Ouch!” “G------it” “S--t!” and that was just the 7 year old!
After a liberal dosing of our favorite carcinogen- I prefer a blend of both deet and picaridin- we set off down the trail.
Like the fearless leader I am, I assured my irritated followers that it would soon fade away. All we needed was to gain a little elevation and get away from this river. Soon we’d leave all these bugs for the dry wildlife flower filled forest that comprised most of the hike.
Unfortunately we had to first cross a river at peak runoff, across a series of partially connected logs that formed a log jam of certain death should someone fall in.
Even less unfortunately even after we successfully crossed the logs-of-death obstacle course, and I’d successfully faried all members across the TWO(!) large flood water sloughs that also blocked our path (thankfully Dads don’t like dry boots), the bugs did not wane. They did not diminish. They did not stop the onslaught for blood.
At mile 2, I’d resorted to a steady neurotic routine that included wiping my right arm with my left, then left arm with my right, then forehead, slap one or both knees and calves, make a swipe across my neck, then repeat- every 15 seconds. About every 5 minutes I would assure everyone we were almost out of them! Just a bit more!
We never left them, or I should say they never left us.
Have you ever seen a “Kiniption”? I mean an honest to goodness full-blown 2-year-old tantrum from an adult? I have, and it’s kind of like a deeply religious experience where someone is so overtaken by the Spirit that they speak in tongues. It’s like that, but the opposite. My wife on two separate occasions completely lost it and went screaming and flailing off into the woods shouting a mix of gobblity gook and profanity, denouncing this hike, this day, our marriage, and dang near life itself, as she tried in vain to escape the buzzing swarm.
The kids complained but not much. Not until the next morning did I see that I had raised two buddist monks. They apparently had completely accepted their lots in life and had not even attempted to combat the vicious horde of biting bugs. My poor daughter’s entire face was swollen and she looked like she had chicken pox on steroids.
To cut a painful story short, we eventually made it to the lake, which was partially covered in ice, but at such an elevation did have slightly fewer ‘skeeters as the shore was still lined with many feet of snow. I caught some brookies, both kids lost some lures, and no one died. That’s the point I’d really like to make. Let’s not get all distracted in the negative, in the end, everyone came home…that’s what really matters. That, and a month later I still haven’t been served with divorce papers! But I’m keeping my fingers crossed, and trying to think of a better activity for next year.
