The next morning I slept in yet again while Cornholio cooked up another excellent breakfast feast of fried eggs, maple sausage, toast, coffee, and juice. He also put out sweet rolls, yogurt, and all the other stuff we didn't eat the previous morning.
After breakfast, Cornholio brought his cooler and a small bag down to his truck and then took a shower. He'd left all of his camping gear in the back of his pickup, and he was ready to go.
I'd made the mistake of unloading everything out of my truck once I'd arrived at the cabin. I now began the arduous task of putting it all back.
It took awhile.
We left Wayne all of our leftovers - probably a couple of weeks worth of food - and then said our goodbyes.
On our way out of town we stopped for gas.
While filling my tank I thought, "I should pick up some ice while I'm here."
Just then I turned around and saw Cornholio walking towards me with five bags of frozen water.
"Here you go Jose."
He always seemed to be a couple of steps ahead of me.
Before leaving the station I said to him, "There's a four cylinder engine under the hood of my truck. The only time it doesn't drive as slow as molasses is when it's raining and I've got Mitch in the passenger seat, so why don't you go on ahead. I'll meet you there."
It was another long, shitty drive, and the scenery sucked.
He put out another big spread of food for lunch, and then we each had a beer and thought about whether we wanted to fish or not.
As we cracked open our second beer he said, "I know a nice spot we can try. Come on. Let's go fish."
"It's somewhere through here."
"It's a nice spot, just a hundred or so yards upstream from here."
I watched as Cornholio suddenly dropped into a channel. The river was now no more than two inches below the top of his waders: nothing much to worry about when treading across a sandy bottom with little to no current, but a bit hairy when the river is moving at a decent clip and you're trying to plant your feet on rocks covered with snot.
When he came back up out of the channel, he started fishing.
It was right about then that I took a hard, objective look around and realized that if either of us went down, there was no telling where, when, or if we'd come back up. Then I made a cast, and suddenly none of that mattered.
He gave me first shot at the prime run, and we both quickly discovered that the fish were holding in the fast, choppy water. The trout were all wild, feisty, fat, and hungry. I missed a lot of takes, landed a fraction of those I hooked, and throughout it all somehow managed to stay on my feet.
As for Cornholio, he caught more fish in a couple of hours than I've caught all year.
Hours of standing on submerged boulders in fast current started to take a toll on my knees, and I was ready for a drink, so I convinced Cornholio that we should head back to camp.
He put out yet another outstanding feast, and after dinner we enjoyed some drinks by the fire before turning in.