Instead of just a wishin'."
The song from the 1960s television show, The Sportsman's Friend, kept floating through my head as we headed toward the pasture at the Ninnescah.
That little snippet was all I could remember of the lyrics (which, by the way, got a little annoying as it played over and over and over again in my mind).
Believe me, I wasn't perched in front of the TV watching the show. I didn't grow up fishing. Sports time with our dad was much more likely to involve throwing or hitting a softball and dribbling or shooting a basketball.
But I live with a guy who has loved fishing all his life. Randy says that the TV show's host, Harold Ensley, came to Rock Springs 4-H Camp for a fishing program one year. The impressionable young 4-Hers went fishing every day after The Sportsman's Friend came to call.
But for my fisherman, fishing has waned somewhat in recent years. He has taken up golf for a hobby, so if he has a little extra time, he usually spends it at the golf course.
However, this week, the golf cart was in the shop. A week of rain and clouds made farm work impossible. After seeing the photos from a memorable fishing trip from long ago, the fishing bug bit again at The County Line.
As usual, I was just along for the ride.
We had just been to the pasture a week before to check cattle. But the spillway was roaring when we arrived on Thursday. Heavy rains upstream had the water flowing so hard that it kicked up frothy waves.
Here's an angle from the other side of the Ninnescah.
What a difference a week makes! The photo below was taken this past Thursday (July 8).
The next photo was taken on June 30 at virtually the same spot (Use the weeds framing the shot in each photo as your landmark.)
OK, I admit it. The first few minutes of the trip, I was much more interested in taking photos than casting a line.
I let my favorite fisherman do the "icky" stuff. Yes, he baited my hook with the beef liver we'd pulled from the freezer. (Just a side note: That's the only acceptable use for liver, in my book. No amount of onions can redeem it. And second side note: Yes, I know I'm a wimp.)
The fish must have had trouble getting out of the whirlpool effect caused by the rushing water. We had hit the mother lode of all fishing excursions.
I am not known for my patience. That's probably one reason fishing is not usually my forte.
But our Thursday fishing trip didn't require any patience. The fish were biting.
They were practically lining up, ready to be threaded on Randy's fish stringer. We didn't even have to make up a fish story.
And we got the perfect scene to end the day with the sun peeking out after a week of clouds.