But bass don't care if you get too drunk and tell your stories too loud the night before...and trout can't smell wood smoke. Elk don't know how many legs a horse has! So, on the social aspect alone, the true "fish camps" I have ever been apart of have had a lot more of the vacation feel. Many of these camps have been small rental houses/poor-man's vacation cottages located in some very rural areas. Rural 'cause that meant low property taxes and the promise of good fishing. So they were houses...just very simple houses. Bare wooden floors that had taken many beatings from heavy boots and river cleats and never refinished, and low ceilings. Always low ceilings. Usually there was a main room with a kitchen attached and the bedroom or two was converted into a bunkroom. You know…six drunk dudes passed out in the same sized bedroom you and your brother had…and yes, same size bunk beds. Yup. Damn fine memories and adventures come from fish camps. And, always…the only truly horrible part of Fish Camp was Leaving Fish Camp. Back to work. Back to the obligations. Back to reality… So it is this dream, this strange new reality, that I find myself living in. Fish camp. Up in the mountains. Trout stream in the back yard. Low ceilings. And with a woman who fishes as much as I do. And occasionally a gigantic (almost unrealistic) mule deer buck shows up in the evenings to remind me that it is all just a coma-induced dream/fantasy. But it is my home forever if I so choose. I never have to leave. Never have to wake up. And the wood floors are perfect!
Monday, August 8, 2011
Phantoms of Fish Camp
I have been infatuated with the romantic notion surrounding the idea of Fish Camp, for most of my life. Not just fishing camp, but Deer Camp...or any sort of cabin were the guys get together once a year to forget all the trivial, unimportant shit, like jobs and mortgages and a tanking stock market. Most of the times I have spent in a "deer camp" were not the usual rowdy, drunken excuses to be away from the wife and kids...they were serous hunting expeditions. I'm talkin' face paint and propane. No bonfires. Strictly a cold camp. Traditional archery...no talkin' loud and messin' around.