I just bucked up $31 for a fishing license. I'll be totally thrilled on Saturday morning when I'm at Laurel Hill, elbow-to-butthole with no less than 7 zillion other guys, fighting over a 2-foot-deep hole full of 7" trout that I just throw back anyway. If I'm lucky, I'll get snagged or birds-nested on the first cast.
That is flippin' hysterical because it is so true and so common for most folks.
I will be at my usual spot with the wife's extended family up in Promised Land State Park, Pike County. We rent a few of the state cabins for the weekend and spend opening day fishing the little creek that connects the upper and lower lakes. My son is about toturn four and he is just starting to get really enthusiastic about catching his own fish. The afternoon is usually spent either fishing the lower lake, looking at the bald eagles or hiking it back to this little, and I do mean little, creek that runs into the back of the lower lake. Plenty of beautiful little trout that come screaming out from underneath the bank edges when you flit a little fathead past their lair. The best part? Nobody else is around.
