California

Bud and Cathy live in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada Mountains and they have a mountain summer cabin on the shore of Silver Lake, not far from where they live. Bud and I signed a fishing contract to fish for Golden Trout. The plan was to hike on the Pacific Crest trail to a lake located around the 9,500 ft elevation. Bud, his son, Ebe and I started our five-mile (each way) walk. About half way up the trail we talked to a couple guys going to the same lake. A little further up, we reached a spot where the drop-off below the trail was too steep for my acrophobia. Ebe is also afraid of heights, so we retreated and went fishing elsewhere.

A couple days later we were in a café having breakfast when the two guys we had seen on the trail came in to eat. They said they tried to sleep next to the lake, but the winds were so strong it rolled them around and kept them awake. Even worse: They didn’t catch any fish.

I changed the Fishing America rules. That’s what I like about making up my own games. I decided to go for what we called a “triple;” a Brookie, a Rainbow and a Brown. I did it.

NOTE: CALIFORNIA FISHER HAS WRITTEN THIS CHAPTER AS A GUEST AUTHOR. IT HASN’T BEEN SENT TO ME YET