As we drove up to it, I felt a bit confused, and in complete awe, as there, before me, was this large puddle- OK, a really small pond, looking for all the world like -a fisherman’s Christmas! I blinked back the tears of disappointment, , and then, began to laugh. -There was just so little room to fish this tiny haven, and the willows, at that time, were so overgrown around the Lake, that there were literally hundreds of lures stuck in the branches of the trees, where in casting out, the rigging, bobbers and lures inclusive, wrapped themselves around the branches, and departed the fisherman’s poles! Oh, I laughed so hard I cried, which, of course, was a mortal wound to some delicate egos traveling with me.

Still, as I wandered around and gathered a lifetime of fishing rigging, the fellas caught some really nice trout, and we had a wonderful meal, and a real good time. Honestly, for a few years after the infamous trip, I could still roll into gales of giggles just recalling the scene! -Now, for all you conservatists, please note, we took a really responsible stand, and de-lured every branch around that waterhole!

I haven’t been back, and that was many years ago, so I’ve no idea if there is any lures hanging there to date. Hmmm! I suppose ole’ Sas found himself a liking for fish!? Perhaps that stove ring was tossed up in the tree because he still cant figure out how to make fire like the fishermen do!

That would be frustrating, after sitting and smelling the wonderful aroma of freshly cornmealed-and-fried trout! I can just imagine him! Sitting there, wiggly trout all lined up on the stove grate, patiently waiting for them to smell so nice, then, finally, in waited-out frustration, tossing the whole maryanne into the treetops, and stomping off! heehee.