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By Bobwhite
That was so fine... thank you gentlemen!
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By Average Joe
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.
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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."
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"It's somewhere through here."
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"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.
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When he came back up out of the channel, he started fishing.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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He put out yet another outstanding feast, and after dinner we enjoyed some drinks by the fire before turning in.
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By fly-chucker
Damn, you boys make it look like Fred and I forgot to bring the food a few weeks ago :cool
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By Average Joe
The next morning Cornholio made coffee and spread a bunch of pastries and yogurt and other stuff I can't remember over the top of the picnic table.

We pondered our fishing options and decided to go back to the spot we'd fished the day before.

The flows were up, and when Cornholio dropped into the channel, the river was less than an inch below the top of his waders.

Because of the stronger current, I shoved my rod down the front of my shirt and used two hands on the wading staff as I slowly made my way upstream.

Then the wind kicked in. It grabbed the frothy peaks of the whitewater and hurled the spray downriver, sometimes into the back of my rain jacket, and I spent a fair amount of time looking up at the eastern ridge of the canyon, hoping the sun would soon appear and offer some warmth.

It was less than pleasant.

I got a couple of tugs at the end of the water I was swinging but couldn't get the hook to stick. After one such encounter I saw a trout the size of a small steelhead leap from the water and give me a look that said, "Not today, motherfucker. Not today."

Cornholio did much better than I, and managed to bring a couple to hand, but the fish were definitely off the bite.

By noon we'd had our fill, so we went back to the truck and I heated up some Lipton cream of chicken soup and a can of Dinty Moore beef stew on the back of the tailgate. I'd brought a pair of fruit cups for dessert, and a we threw back a couple of beers to wash it all down. Damn it was good.

We went back to camp, had a few more beers, stoked the fire, and took a nice leisurely nap.

It was late afternoon by the time we got up, and Cornholio had a long drive ahead of him, so instead of fishing we threw some more wood on the fire and talked about trips we'd like to take in the future.

At around 5:00 I cooked up a couple of pizzas. The ham hock and bean soup stayed in the cooler, as did the Caesar salad. Cornholio then loaded up his truck and headed home.

Camp became really small after he left.
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The sun had yet to drop below the western range, so I jumped in the truck and went for a drive.
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Plenty of beauty...
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... and evidence of devastation...
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... along with proof that some signs don't lie.
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I got back to camp, did the dishes, and started loading up my truck.
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With that out of the way, I sat by the fire and pondered my options.
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I could stay here and fish the next day.

I could go somewhere else and fish the next day.

I could head home.

My body ached, and the brandy wasn't helping, so I doused the fire, jumped in the truck, and made it home by 1:00 AM the following morning.

It was a fantastic trip with an excellent fisherman and an incredibly generous friend, and I'm looking forward to getting out on the water with him again in the near future.

Should any of you ever get the opportunity to fish with Cornholio, take it. His only quirk is that he occasionally struggles to dress himself properly: something only Mitch would find offensive.
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Cheers boys.
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By FredA
fly-chucker wrote: Tue Oct 31, 2017 4:09 pm Damn, you boys make it look like Fred and I forgot to bring the food a few weeks ago :cool
That's why we had johnny.

Damn boys that was some good eatin. I found myself thinking "I guess Joe does catch fish"... well done!
User avatar
By fatman
damn fine :smile
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That's what it's about. :cool

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