Thirty minutes of fishing.
That was Bill's only request after coming home from church and asking if I wanted to go with him up to Smith Creek yesterday afternoon.
Approved!
For sure, I can deal with 30 minutes of his fishing when we go out together, as long as I'm assured of the end game.
We don't often go out on fishing excursions together whenever he's looking for more minutes cuz Bill's desire to land a lunker or even a minnow usually continues until the last light of day.
So, we wasted no time gathering up half the house and carrying it out to the pickup.
I don't know why we have to take so much stuff to be away for just a few hours-----but we do.
It could be because we never really know if we're gonna go off on a hike or pick huckleberries or just drive around in addition to that 30 minutes of fishing.
It could be because we never really know if we're gonna go off on a hike or pick huckleberries or just drive around in addition to that 30 minutes of fishing.
So, we take extra footgear, trekking poles, the ice chest, snacks, added clothing, fishing gear, cameras, chairs----all just in case.
Yesterday I also took along a book which I'm reading, figuring 30 minutes of Bill's fishing would fly by much too fast with this book.
It's called Educated, and it's a page turner. My neighbor loaned it to me after reading it for her book club.
This 2018 release is a memoir about the life that Tara Washburn led as a child in Southern Idaho as part of a family steeped in paranoia about the government and pretty much any force posing a threat to their family unit.
If it were winter, I probably would have finished this book in a couple of days, but constant summer busYness has meant reading little snatches at a time and looking forward to the next opportunity to sit down and turn some more pages.
So, yesterday, while Bill fished. I reminded him that I had a watch, even giving him five minutes of slack time for ingress and egress from Cow Creek, where he first fished back in 1974 while camping out as a Forest Service worker.
Bill altered that part of the plan a bit.
"I count my time from the moment I first cast," he said.
Actually, I wasn't keeping too much track of time cuz I was as anxious to set out the lawn chair and get to reading as he was to get to the creek.
Perfect timing.
Almost the second I reached the page that said, "Book Two," Bill came walking up from the creek.
I could see him clearly just a few feet away as he called on the radio, saying he would be back to the pickup in just a few moments.
I humored him by pushing the button to my radio and replying okay.
Bill likes to make use of his technical gear, especially the new set of walkie talkies, he purchased shortly after I dropped half a set into the outdoor john at Boulder Meadows a few weeks ago.
Come to think of it, nobody has come forth with that radio to claim their reward.
Anyway, our outing could have used pretty much all the gear we took, had we found more huckleberries.
Before the 30-minute designated fishing time, Bill drove up the Shorty Peak Lookout Road where, if there had been as many huckleberries as mosquitoes, we would have come home with the mother lode.
I think the two of us collected about 26 berries during a short walk up the trail where we met a couple of hikers and their dog from Bozeman, headed to the lookout three miles away.
We had the buckets, but the berry-picking part of yesterday's list of possibilities saw pretty much zero progress, especially because, after the mosquito attack, all we wanted to do was get out of there.
Bill did catch a couple of fish in Cow Creek. He never did any fishing in his beloved Smith Creek yesterday, but I think that opportunity will come later, as he almost always returns each year around Labor Day.
You can be sure that I'll probably stay home that day because 30 minutes is hardly enough for my husband to spend casting his flies on the main creeks that began his love affair with the Idaho outdoors so many years ago.
Happy Monday.
This 2018 release is a memoir about the life that Tara Washburn led as a child in Southern Idaho as part of a family steeped in paranoia about the government and pretty much any force posing a threat to their family unit.
If it were winter, I probably would have finished this book in a couple of days, but constant summer busYness has meant reading little snatches at a time and looking forward to the next opportunity to sit down and turn some more pages.
So, yesterday, while Bill fished. I reminded him that I had a watch, even giving him five minutes of slack time for ingress and egress from Cow Creek, where he first fished back in 1974 while camping out as a Forest Service worker.
Bill altered that part of the plan a bit.
"I count my time from the moment I first cast," he said.
Actually, I wasn't keeping too much track of time cuz I was as anxious to set out the lawn chair and get to reading as he was to get to the creek.
Perfect timing.
Almost the second I reached the page that said, "Book Two," Bill came walking up from the creek.
I could see him clearly just a few feet away as he called on the radio, saying he would be back to the pickup in just a few moments.
I humored him by pushing the button to my radio and replying okay.
Bill likes to make use of his technical gear, especially the new set of walkie talkies, he purchased shortly after I dropped half a set into the outdoor john at Boulder Meadows a few weeks ago.
Come to think of it, nobody has come forth with that radio to claim their reward.
Anyway, our outing could have used pretty much all the gear we took, had we found more huckleberries.
Before the 30-minute designated fishing time, Bill drove up the Shorty Peak Lookout Road where, if there had been as many huckleberries as mosquitoes, we would have come home with the mother lode.
I think the two of us collected about 26 berries during a short walk up the trail where we met a couple of hikers and their dog from Bozeman, headed to the lookout three miles away.
We had the buckets, but the berry-picking part of yesterday's list of possibilities saw pretty much zero progress, especially because, after the mosquito attack, all we wanted to do was get out of there.
Bill did catch a couple of fish in Cow Creek. He never did any fishing in his beloved Smith Creek yesterday, but I think that opportunity will come later, as he almost always returns each year around Labor Day.
You can be sure that I'll probably stay home that day because 30 minutes is hardly enough for my husband to spend casting his flies on the main creeks that began his love affair with the Idaho outdoors so many years ago.
Happy Monday.
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