Tuesday, July 19, 2016


Last night I decided that I'm just as bad as my husband.  He'll seize on any excuse to pull out his rod and reel and fishing boots to check out a nearby stream.

In my case, nobody has to light a fire under me when I'm itching to go take some photos. 

Well, most of the time.  

This blending of passions got a little heated last week when we had gone on a trip to pick huckleberries and chop wood in the mountains north of Bonners Ferry.   The trip has been documented in one of last week's blog postings. 

But, alas!  There's the rest of the story, which I chose to omit last week. 

We were on our way down the long mountain road when Bill suddenly stopped the pick-up in a rather nondescript location. 

"Want to take pictures?" he asked.

"Of what?" I responded.

"The creek," he said.

"Where is it?" I asked.

"Over there," he said pointing to a small parking area alongside the road. 

Totally confused, I looked that direction and could see nothing but trees and a lot of foliage.  

We pulled in and parked.  When he just sat there on his side of the truck with the door open, I asked Bill if he was getting out 

"Just listening to make sure I hear the creek," he explained. 

Still in wonderment as to why he had chosen this place along the road for me to to stop and take pictures, I got out and walked toward the creek.  Once there, I looked for something, anything photogenic.  

Having taken oodles of creek pictures this year, I saw nothing unusual and still wondered, "Why here?"  

So, I snapped an obligatory photo, turned around and saw exactly why Bill thought I desperately wanted to stop at that very spot to take pictures.  


"You're not going fishing!" I yelled.  Suddenly, the fishing boots went back into the truck.

The next few minutes involved a one-sided conversation highlighted by the word "misrepresented" as we continued down the road. 

I had gone on this particular trip, planning to pick huckleberries and snap a few photos while Bill bucked wood. Then, we would stop for dinner on the way home.

Fishing had never been mentioned and was NOT mentioned when Bill wanted me to stop and take pictures of a rather un-photogenic scene, by God's Country standards. 

Let's just call it a dupe that turned sour.  

You see when Bill decides to go fishing, there's seldom an end game in mind besides darkness. 

That's why I don't go along very often on his fishing trips. 

Bill had quietly brought along his gear, and on this day he figured that Marianne's addiction to photography would serve his addiction to fishing perfectly. 

Only problem, Bill-----pick a better photographic scene.  

Anywho, we got that situation all worked out, and in the future he'll probably mention that a few minutes of fishing might be included on the agenda.  I seldom complain and happily comply whenever I know his plans.  

Long story short, we're both will seize on pretty much any opportunity to fulfill our favorite passions.  

So, last night when I'd listened to enough of the early speeches at the Republican Convention and saw that Bill was nodding off on the couch, I took advantage of the time and escaped the house with my camera. 

I don't know what infinite wisdom regarding America's impending greatness I missed at the big gathering in Cleveland, but I do know it was a good call for me to head on out for a drive through the countryside. 

Just like Bill's continual quest to test the waters for whatever might bite that fly, I love to happen upon scenes where I can catch the moment.

Bill almost always throws his catches back into the water.  That's where we're different.  

I can't wait to take my haul of photos home and see if they really look as neat as the scene did in real life. 

Last night was no exception.  I think I enjoyed myself a lot more during that hour than I would have, sitting home on the couch. 

Once more, my passion was fulfilled, and once more my camera helped me zero in on what's truly great about our little corner of God's Country. 

Happy Tuesday. 

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