A site under a massive tree, with big boulders to use as chairs and the fireplace set against a huge fallen log, is what we chose. Fishing was on our minds, and off we went immediately. Lake Cabestro was beautiful, about a mile long and half a mile wide.
The crystal-clear water reflected the mountains that came right down to the water’s edge. What a sight!
We decided to go fishing right then, so we returned to the wagon and got our gear.
Chipmunks were scampering all over the place.
It was at this time that I was informed that we were fly-fishing! But, oh boy, I was already in trouble ‘cause I didn’t even have a fly.
I didn’t know the first thing about rigging my Zebco for this kind of fishing. The first lesson in fly-fishing: tie the fly on the line. Shoot, it couldn’t be that difficult. While Ben and Cro fished, I spent the afternoon practicing tying a borrowed fly onto my line, which was not designed for a fly! Then, I had to learn how to throw it out by feeding the line as I worked the fly further and further out over the water. This type of fishing was really great fun, and I soon discovered it as I worked with my rig. “It’s all in the wrist.” I only hooked myself three times that afternoon!
We had no luck, however, so it was sandwiches and Cokes for supper. A large colony of chipmunks had adopted us, so we also ensured they got fed. We built a large fire and sat around trading stories about girls, sports, autos, and more girls! As the evening progressed, I noticed how cold it was becoming. I had my first lesson in heights and their effects on the temperature. I could see my breath as I talked! We put some larger logs on our fire, and as we got ready for bed, Ben announced he was sleeping in the wagon. Well, that sounded like an excellent idea to me, so I said, “I think I’ll join you.” Cro responded, “What… are you two sissies going to abandon this opportunity to enjoy this great outdoors?” He continued to call us several names like “chicken,” ”pantywaists,” and a few I cannot repeat. All of his harassment could not persuade us to give up our bed in the wagon. He put up his cot close to the fire, zipped up his sleeping bag with nothing showing but his nose, and settled in for the night.
Ben and I turned the back of the wagon into a double bed and used our sleeping bags. Things were quiet, and the slumber was great until around four in the morning when we were jolted awake by Cro moving into the front seat with a sheepish grin and calling the “cold” a few of his choice names.
After a big breakfast, it was back to fishing all day. Then, come dark, Zilch…no fish! I did hook myself a couple more times, but I’m not edible! So, come suppertime, it was time to discuss our food supply. We decided to ration what was left of the food because we still had two days on top of this mountain. So, forget about driving down to Red River for supper. Once we get back down that “road,” we aren’t coming back up it!
The next morning, after a little bite to eat, crumbs for our chipmunks, and fishing, we did go. Today, we tried using salmon eggs for the trout with the bait lying on the bottom. I’m still waiting for fish by lunchtime. After our limited lunch, we decided to go hiking. The three of us headed to the far end of the lake and followed a small mountain stream into the timber. Suddenly, we couldn’t believe our eyes! A herd of elk stood, grazing in an upper meadow. Ben whipped out his little camera and took some shots of those beautiful animals.
We finally ended up on the other side of the lake, where Ben decided to get a picture of our campground in the distance. He kept trying this angle, then that angle, and finally decided to climb a tall pine tree to get the right shot. You should have seen Bill and me trying to get him up that tree. First, we tried the locked fingers routine and nearly lost our fingers. Next, we tried using Bill’s shoulders, but Ben only managed to get as far as piggybacking. We finally found a log, which we wedged from a boulder to the tree, and with Bill and me pushing and shoving, Ben could make it to the first limb.
Then, off he went higher and higher. He was now happy with his photos. As we continued around the lake, the idea for Ben’s nickname was conceived. After nearly getting a hernia pushing Ben up that tree, Bill and I gave him a hard time about his “big butt.” By the time we returned to camp, we had modified the name to “Chugbutt,” which has stuck for over 45 years!
While we were resting and playing with our friendly chipmunks, I decided to help Ben by changing out the film in his camera. So, I opened the back, finished winding the film, and removed it. It was then that Ben saw me and yelled for me to stop. But it was too late; yep, you guessed it, I had exposed the whole roll, and my name was Mud!
After that fiasco, it was back to fishing, and OH MY GOSH, my line took off across the lake! I was rewinding my trusty Zebco, but nothing was happening. Bill and Ben are hollering for me to bring that fish in! So, I did the only thing I could think of; I grabbed that line and took off running up the mountain, into the woods, until I heard them yelling for me to stop. I couldn’t believe I had caught a fish! The other two guys were lying on the bank laughing. They had never seen a fish come out of the water in the middle of a lake and skim across the top, never to enter the water again. They laughed harder when I said I was going to eat it for supper. You see, my fish was only six inches long, different from what you would call a keeper.
We ended the day with three of those “keepers,” so it was back to camp for our feast. While our Chef, Cro, was cooking, I went in search of more firewood. I had been working on this giant stump for two days and was determined to bring it into the camp. It was so large that I could only move it a little at a time each day. Finally, I finished pushing it into camp just as supper was served. At bedtime, we pushed that massive chunk of wood onto the fire. The next morning, it was gone! I looked forward to being in front of that big, warm fire while dressing. But my big stump was gone…someone had stolen my stump… I was sure of it! Cro started laughing and asked me, “You don’t think the fire may have stolen it?” No way, it was too big; some person had to have taken it away!
We were interrupted by the mystery of the stolen stump by a scratching noise coming from our empty Crisco can. You won’t believe it, but we had a chipmunk going crazy trying to escape from the can. It was like he was running on ice. In all that lard, he wasn’t going anywhere. It was such fun watching him, so we decided to keep him as a pet.
Late that evening, as we sat around the fire yakking, we heard this strange noise. So big, brave Cro goes to see what the noise is.
A minute later, we hear him running and yelling to get into the wagon and lock the doors. As he enters the camp, we are already moving toward the wagon. Unfortunately, Bill is as white as a sheet, and by the time we lock the doors, a big black bear is in our camp. He cleaned our skillet, turned our pet loose from his can, and then meandered into the darkness. The three brave amigos decided to spend the rest of the evening inside the wagon until the body odor and other strange smells forced us back outside!
The next day, we headed back home, and I was ready to go, as my stomach was growling and crying out for food. Cro and Chugbutt decided to get up at 4:00 a.m. to try their luck again at catching fish. I wouldn’t get up before daylight and freeze my butt off for no fish, so I slept in. It was time for breakfast, and the guys weren’t back. I had cooked up the rest of the food for us to eat before breaking camp. Well, it made little sense to waste those eggs and bacon and let them get cold while waiting for the other two. So, I did what every starving American boy would do…. I ate every last crumb.
Even the chipmunks were upset at not having their meal. Cro and Chugbutt arrived around 10:00 a.m. and were starving and ready to eat. I told them that the people who stole the log also stole the food, but the dirty frying pan and dishes gave me away! The only thing that undoubtedly saved me from an indescribable death was the fact that they had caught a mess of fish! They used bacon grease to fry up the fish and made an excellent meal out of it. They were feeling so good that they laughed about me eating all the eggs and bacon.
It was mid-afternoon when we pulled into Red River. We were thrilled to find a place that serves authentic food. So, we pigged out on hamburgers, fries, and strawberry malts…. Make it two strawberry malts each.
Late that evening, we pulled into Sturgeon’s driveway…. each realizing we had just completed “The Unforgettable Fishing Trip!”
