In other words, the trotlines got tangled in snags, the fly rod never left it’s case, and I spent a good part of my saturday just mowing and scraping with a bobcat and cutting steps in dirt to get to a point where the more infirm (read, old fat men with bad knees) could get down to banks to fish.

At the end of the day, nobody caught any fish but Werner (who caught little chubs to use as bait by the force of his will) and there was much rejoicing.

Still. We spent most of the day sitting on the sandy banks of the Middle Fork, watching canoeists drift by, some of the guys waded across the river to see what was on the other side, and we sat in the sand on the shores under shady trees enjoying the mild weather, near total lack of mosquitoes, and pleasant conversation.

I cannot say that I did not catch fish, for i caught about eight chubs, bass, and blues all of which together would have fit in a drinking glass, and a carp about a pound. Still: A nice day not working, which was good.