See, we just finished planning a fishing trip. The Toe and I try to take a couple of trips a year. We never go anywhere exotic, like Christmas Island or the Cayman Islands, because we're both broke as a joke. We head for the Driftless Area in Wisconsin. Truth be told, it's not even a trip for the Toe, because he lives down there. We used to camp out, until the Toe found a cabin that rents for about the same as a campsite. With the price if gas the way it is, hauling the camper down there would cost more than the cabin does, and the cabin has a refrigerator. Real rustic.
Like any other working stiffs, the Toe and I recognize the wisdom in getting your vacation request in early. It usually takes a couple of e-mails (on company time), a phone call or two and a couple of impassioned pleas to significant others to decide when we want to fish. Then we put our requests in for the time off. Once our vacations are approved, the real planning can begin.
I had to teach the Toe how to plan. He was the kind of guy that would plan to go fishing on Saturday at six in the morning. At five-thirty on Saturday morning, the Toe would be in the living room putting new line on his reel. All his gear would be spread out on the floor, looking like a garage sale at Babe Winkelman's house. The damnedest thing was this; he would be ready to fish at six. But rushing around like that is just asking for something to go wrong. So, gradually I showed him how a guy could do a lot of that stuff well in advance, sometimes as much as two months in advance, and avoid that slightly rushed feeling that comes from trying to tie six dozen Blue-Winged Olives the night before you leave to go fishing.
The Toe took to this new philosophy like a duck to water. Now, he's so good at planning ahead that we sometimes have ice fishing conversations in late August. This is the subject of much head-shaking and eye-rolling by the women in our lives, but by God, we are rarely unprepared and never under-equipped.
So, the vacations are approved and the planning begins. Numerous phone calls will be made, weather will be scrutinized, flies will be tied.
The menu will be a topic of conversation. The Toe and I fish hard. Go back and read that sentence again, because I'm serious. We fish really hard, and it takes a lot of food to keep us going. We aren't gourmets or anything, but we also aren't the type of guys that will suffer if we don't have to. We eat well. One night we'll grill some steaks, we'll deep fry a bunch of chicken wings another night and this year we're keeping some trout (gasp) for supper and possibly breakfast. Another fish camp favorite is what the Toe calls "Welfare Burgers". A big drippy hamburger with a slab of Velveeta melted on top. The cabin we stay in has a toaster, and last spring during the early season opener, the Toe produced a box of Eggos and a package of cinnamon-apple brats from some locker plant he frequents. Sheer genius. A couple of Eggos and a brat for breakfast will stick to your ribs when the fishing is slow and the weather is just short of brutally cold.
As the time to fish gets closer, the conversation will shift to the possible hatches we may encounter. Blue-Winged Olives are always a safe bet, as are caddis flies. Most of our fish are caught on nymphs, but we won't turn down some cosmic dry-fly fishing if the opportunity presents itself.
When the trip is within two weeks, the weather becomes the main topic of conversation. We'll fish rain or shine, but we prefer shine. Or more acccurately, a heavy overcast with no wind. To the Toe and I, wind is worse that rain. As a matter of fact, I'd rather fish on a calm rainy day than a clear windy one. Whatever the weather, we'll fish, but we like to know what to expect. The Toe and I were bass fishing one time and it was raining so hard we put our waders on even thought we didn't really plan on walking in the water. The wind was blowing like a bastard with no end in sight when the Toe looked at me and said, "At least we ain't at work!"
Indeed.
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