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A Fish Story 
A resident in the area saw a ball bouncing around kind of strange in a nearby pond and went to investigate.
It turned out to be a flathead catfish who had obviously tried to swallow a child's basketball which became stuck in its mouth!!
The fish was totally exhausted from trying to dive,
but unable to because the ball would always bring him back up to the surface. The resident tried numerous times to get the ball out, but was unsuccessful. He finally had his wife cut the ball in order to deflate it and release the hungry catfish.
You probably wouldn't have believed this,
if you hadn't seen the following pictures...
Here is a letter in response to an invite to go fishing with a friend from younger days. It's rather long, but hilarious and really hits home for anyone who has ever been backpacking or camping.
Dear Dave:
It was good to hear from you and thank you for the invitation to go backpacking once again to Music Pass and Sand Creek lakes.
As you know I have passed on this trip the last couple of years due to my advancing age and poor physical condition. I felt like I had been there many times before and even though the fish were huge and the surroundings beautiful, I didn’t think I needed to prove anything at this point in my life.
However, your offer this year got me thinking. I thought here is a man that had bypass heart surgery last year and was forced to cancel his fishing expedition to 12,000 feet just weeks before the big event. I thought, wait a minute, if he can make this trip then what’s the matter with me?
After all, this is one of the most beautiful places on earth and the fishing is always good. It’s only a mile and one half up to the top of the pass and a mile and a half down to where we camp along the stream. I starting thinking about the time the mountain goats leaped across the trail and we stopped and watched them on the lush mountainside. I remember the wide array of wild flowers as they filled the meadows and the multitude of birds of indescribable colors as they flitted about. I remembered the serine beaver ponds full of brookies and the 5 pound spawning cutthroat that my wife just picked up out of the water with her bare hands. I thought about the deer grazing near our campsite every morning and the time we saw the herd of wild horses. I remembered that cozy feeling of sitting around the campfire at night, eating smores and telling each other stories. No cell phones and no TV’s. Just Mother Nature at her best. I thought about the deep purple cutthroat, so heavy that we often packed out more weight then we packed in.
Then it hit me.
I flashed on that morning when we discovered the big bear paw print in the mud right in front of our tent and the time we were crossing the stream on a fallen tree and saw a mountain lion at the other end of the log wanting to cross as well. I thought of the time we had to sleep out in the rain at the base of the trail and the next morning had to drive down to the Laundromat in town to dry our clothes and sleeping bags instead of hiking in. I pictured the mud from the rain storms that happen just about every day and our little tent spread out over tree roots and rocks. I remembered sitting around that smoky fire at night shivering as I tried to get warm and dried out before I had to go to bed and lay on the tip of a granite boulder under my sleeping bag. I remember the 20 miles of ungodly 4 wheel drive road going to the base of the trail that we navigated so expertly in our two wheel drive city cars. I remember reshaping our oil pans on the twelve foot boulders we were trying to weave in and out of. I remember thinking that it was amazing that our side windows never shattered as our heads banged from side to side. Then I remembered what it was like to be gasping for air at 12,000 feet as we trudged up the trail packing 70 pounds of tents, bags, fishing gear and enough canned food to last a month. Of course, we were sure happy that we took that case of beer once we got in. I remember sucking in the dust of the trail from the guy walking in front of me and the time the guys passed us with their pack horses as we labored to take the next step and not fall down. And remember when that one horse had passed and he took a big dump right in front of us. I thought I was going to die as I sucked in the aroma of freshly ground hay. I was ready to kill somebody, but I didn’t have the strength.
I remember getting to the top of the pass half walking and half crawling. Everyone was jubilant that we had made it to the top. I on the other hand was thinking we were halfway there and as we walked down the other side, all I could think of was that we would be walking back up in a couple of days, unless I died. Then someone else would have to worry about it.
And remember the time we packed in and decided we would take the tent and all the gear all the way up to the top lake. Over the hill, up the stream, through the acres of fallen trees, sloshing through the beaver ponds and gripping all those loose rocks on the final, I can’t believe there is a damn lake up here, assent? That just happened to be the same unforgettable time that you decided you didn’t need a fishing license, because we had never seen a Ranger within 30 Miles of that place. No Ranger in his right mind would walk through all that just to get some idiot that was too lazy to get a license. Of course we didn’t count on the Ranger on horse back who was there to greet us with a “Howdy boys! How’s the fishin”? We didn’t even have time to eat some of the food before we had to turn around and carry it back out. The only thing lighter on that trip was your wallet.
As I thought, the true nature of Mother Nature came into focus. I remember taking a dump and wiping my ass with pine needles because I had forgotten to bring toilet paper and I had used all the dollar bills I had in my wallet. The pine needles helped with the smell but you have to be careful which direction you wipe. To This day I can’t hang one of those sickening fake pine trees in my car.
Remember the time it snowed and we lost the trail. We ended up crossing the face of a cliff , inching our way across a 6” ledge. As my wife looked down at the 80 foot drop of jagged rocks and trees she mumbled something about jumping
Yes, I remember backpacking to Sand Creeks. I was 20 years younger, 60 pounds lighter and didn’t have high blood pressure, gout or bursitis. I had more hair and it was darker. AARP hadn’t made me a charter member yet and I wasn’t getting the senior discount at Dunkin donuts.
I was able to sweat back then and I didn’t have to figure out where to put my teeth at night. In fact, I wasn’t even sure what a hemorrhoid was in those days. I used to think that the smell of campfire smoke in you clothes and every orifice of your body was manly. Not taking a bath or shaving for a week seemed to make us impervious to the dirt and mosquito’s. After about three days we didn’t even notice the smell.
Lying there at night picking those little shit balls off your ass was real entertainment on those dark cold sleepless nights that seemed to last forever. There is something about a rock piercing your back or an unusual noise outside the tent that will keep your mind active all night long. I remember wondering, as I zipped up my sleeping bag, “How many more Fritos and beans I can eat before I have to just bury this bag.
That must have been somebody else or in another lifetime. At my age, I am thinking about insurance policies, walking up the stairs without pulling a muscle and how I will reach my shoes if they come untied. When my wife says “ Do you want to go upstairs and have sex, I have to tell her one or the other I can’t do both. Walking to my car has become a challenge and walking 1 ½ miles straight up at 12,000 feet with 70 pounds on my back is unimaginable. My God, what were we thinking?
Yes, I still love to fish and I know a little exercise is good for me. We spent much of our lives pushing the edge of the envelope. Pushing the edge of the envelope for me at this point in my life is setting up the folding chair when the wind is blowing. These days you’ll find me at a lake near a town, with a soup and salad bar and a Motel 6 with magic fingers on every bed. No rocks and no roots.
Don’t feel sorry for me as I’m not dead yet, and I’d like to keep it that way. If you would think about it you would join me at the Motel 6 and we could reminisce about the great times we had at Music Pass and Sand Creeks while eating at the soup and salad bar. Then we can top the evening off by shuffling over to the motel for some magic fingers excitement. Bring your quarters and a couple of extra oxygen tanks.
Your Friend,
Bob
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