Fish Tale

Remember a bit ago when I blogged about catching this guy next time we went on vacation? Well faery tales do come true, it can happen to you, if you wait until you can't see a danged thing!

We went with a few of the kids up to Mammoth Lakes this past week for some family time and fishing. Last year all we caught were colds and a few mosquito bites. This year, a different tale altogether.

The first day on the boat we were four hours in and Thor got a bite. The water on Convict Lake was so pristine (pictures next post) and so calm, it was like looking in glass. You could see the floor of the lake and down about twenty feet. You could see the fish dart in and around the boat sticking their tiny fish tongues out and they swam away singing "Neener Neener!" It was most depressing, but Thor caught a good fourteen inch beauty and we were happy.

That night all the boys went out night fishing at Lake Mary and The Fireman came home with a pretty 12 inch rainbow and a tangled mess on his rod. Pretty much all the boys had tangled messes from not being able to see anything in the black forest. Thor was the lead man and led the guys back out of the woods and to the truck via his blackberry phone light. Technology saves the day (or in this case - night) once again.

The next day we went out to Lake Mary and set in on shore near the outlet. We drove the trucks in and walked a few feet down and made a small stake out on the rocky shore. We knew we had found a great spot as we could see the fish jumping and leaping right in front of us about fourty feet out. The water was again sparkling clear and like a mirror, absolutely gorgeous. The spot was full of dead trees and lots of grasses, moss and rocks of all sizes; plenty of hiding places for trout. We were pumped!

About an hour in The Teacher pulled out a strong 12 inch rainbow, and then kept pulling them out until at the end of a very long day on the lake, she had scored five fish! The R.N. pulled out a natural fish, not a farmed trout, with a fly. She and The Electrician love fly fishing and were using the most intricately tied tiny little flies. She had a 'black ant' on the line and when she felt the tug, she pulled out her fish. The only problem- he was about three inches, just a baby. Cute, but he had to go back or be bait. So off the hook he went and swam back out to warn the others.

Time went by and eventually the sun began to go down. By now, we had a few successes, everyone except The Electrician and myself had caught a fish worthy of keeping. There were plenty of lures lost to grass and logs, and also many small tree limbs caught. But as the sun grew dimmer and more dim I began to lose all hope of coming home with a fish.

The sun went kerplop and I was casting out into the black pool unable to even see where the lure would land until I heard the plop and saw the small ring begin to spread on the water's surface. Cast after cast went out and then "I'm on!"

I felt a small tug on the line, familiar -as I had one bite earlier in the day, but he got away and the rest of my tugs were met with a clump of disgusting greenery. I saw the small silver pop and then down he went. At first I thought he had escaped, then a jerk and a tug and he was out of the water again, this time the crew focused on him and began to shout instructions my way. "Keep him in the water!" "Keep your line down and taught!" "Don't bring him in to quickly!" "Steady! Steady!" I kept following the words of success and brought him home. He flipped up into the shallows as The Fireman grabbed for the net. "Bring him up closer, steady, keep him in the water!" And then the struggle really began.

He was too big for the net. There was a swoosh and a dart and more swishing and lunging to get him into the net and finally he was in with the help of hands and rocks. He was in the net and Thor went to release the hook, too late, he had wriggled his way out of the hook and was gasping for air with his big fish lips. His mouth was so open and chomping it looked like he was biting Thor and The Fireman! The Electrician came in and put the poor thing out of his misery and onto the stringer with the other fish caught that night. (You can see his size in comparison to the Fireman's shoe and the other fish on the stringer in the photo)

All in all we aren't really sure of exactly how much he weighs, I'll let you know when I cook him up, and we also didn't have a measuring tape. When we got home we laid out Mr. Big on an opened up piece of donut box and measured him against dollar bills. We estimate him at about 20 some inches (bills being 6 inches and he being slightly over three bills long...hey it's all I got!).

So here you go: If you want to fish in Mammoth, go to Lake Mary near the outlet. Cast all day until you can't see where you are casting. When you finally get a bite listen to your coaches and bring in that bad boy! I'll let you know how he cooks up!

Oh, and by the way, I caught Mr. Big with my pink fishing pole!

One more reason Thor is amazing.

Dandelion Momma writes beautifully on summer happenings in her home and feelings that bring moments of relief in an often overwhelming life; one of which is the thought that perhaps someday she will be able to hang her laundry on a clothesline outside to dry and fluff in the warm summer sun. She makes it sound lovely.

One of my best friends hates to see the weather change to the point where she has to take her laundry indoors. She is a firm believer in the benefits of sun dried sheets and clothing that takes on the scent of the outdoors. She becomes slightly depressed during the long winter months of rain, or the threats thereof that chain her shirts, socks, and sweaters to the energy efficient dryer in the laundry room.

Me? I have issues.

For the first six and a half years and three children of our marriage Thor and I budgeted every penny trying to buy a house, feed little people and keep ends at least within a few feet of each other. Part of that budgeting was me lugging laundry and 1, then 2, then 3 children twenty minutes into town and doing laundry at the mat. I detested most every minute there as, at that time, it was the least expensive of the auto-mats in our hamlet, and being such, attracted those who could least afford the better machines and interiors. But I went dutifully. Thor was sacrificing (he had to live away from home for work, many times living in his car to save money rather than sleeping in a hotel), and this was my part. Many times the children were not allowed away from my sight lest an inebriated parent in the room engage them in a somewhat less than appropriate conversation.

After a while Thor saved enough and came home with a washer. It was small, the smallest one they made in the line he chose. It was a fabulous machine that lasted us well over 20 years in the long run. On average, with the kids and the size of the washer, I would do 3-4 loads a day over those 20 years. We hadn't yet afforded a dryer, so those loads were hung outside in the summer weather to dry. We had 1/2 acre of land, completely void of vegetation due to the high cost of water. The backyard was a vast flat piece of sandy dirt and gravel with foot high foxtail weeds in the spring until Thor could plow them down. But the line was well above the danger of the weeds and dirt and with the heat of the day, even the heaviest pair of denim jeans would be dry in a matter of minutes. In the winter laundry hung like Salvador Dali's "Persistence of Memory" all over the house furniture. When it finally dried it would come off the particular piece of furniture cast in its' shape, crispy and often oddly shaped even after putting it on. If I didn't take care to properly place the clothes once dried you could have a permanent "bubble" shape in an arm sleeve or the small of your back, or worse.

Along with saving for dryers we needed to save for other items. As a young bride and groom we received zero towels when we married. Z. RO. We got 5 hand mixers, 10 salad bowls, 6 chip and dip sets and 2 blenders, but no towels (or sheet sets for that matter). Thor's mother generously gave us her older towels and sheets which we gratefully took once we saw the price of new ones. It took me about six and a half years to finally save enough to buy brand new thick lovely towels!

I brought them home and cut the tags off of them, I put them in the washer and anticipated their thick fluffy loops drying us all later that night. I hung them out on the line and after 20 minutes or so went out to gather our new treasures! Instead I walked out to find the line post had broke at the base and fell to the ground. The line had twisted over and over in the wind and the towels had flopped and mopped up thousands of foxtails into the terrycloth. I unclipped each towel and wash cloth and cried crocodile tears as I surveyed the damage. Not one was saved, they all were covered so thick with the foxtails there was no hope of pulling them out without destroying the terry loops. I blew. After waiting almost seven years it was all I could take. The towels were gone. Worse, the money was gone with them.

With all the kids down for their naps I went to the garage. I found the hedge clippers and I went to work. I went to the downed line and chopped it into foot lengths of rope confetti, crying and yelling at the ground for all I was worth. I had lost my new beautiful longed-for and months of saved for towels and I was hysterical. I exhausted my emotion in that line and then picked up the destruction and put it all in the trash.

I walked into the house, took a shower and waited. Thor came home two days later and I showed off the towels and my handiwork. If we went into hock or hell, I was Scarlett O'Hara and as God as my Witness I would never use an outdoor clothes line again! Thor gave me the "Frankly my dear..." look, but before he could begin the look on my face told him not to say a word.

Poor Thor took all my wrath and then some. It was not his fault but I didn't know who else to blame and I needed to spend that rage. It took two more weeks but, Thor brought home a small dryer and kept me from chopping up anything else. It's been 30 some years now and I tell ya, there are just some things a wife needs; and for me, it was a washer and a dryer!

So I put it to you, is there any silly thing that pushed you over the edge of reason, for which your better half has saved you by providing a solution?

Joshua Tree Mosaic

Taken on a ride through Joshua Tree National Park last Saturday. Incredible. I suggest it to anyone who can get there within the next week or two. This is a feast for your eyes, a miracle of sorts, and a testament to the Creator. Truly amazing.

Please! Do your self a favour and click on the mosaic to see these gorgeous flowers a little bit larger.

They call the wind "Mariah", I could think of a different name...

Remember that last post, where I talked about the wind? Yeah, well, it blew. And because of the rain we experienced this winter we have a wonderful crop of foxtails this year. Lucky for us they all blew right onto the porch. INCHES THICK! I tell ya, it was like a scary fifties sci-fi movie. Black and white, a tad grainy and with that creepy rancher off in the distance.

foxtail nightmare
Originally uploaded by S'mee.

The foxtails are literally shoved up against the walls of the porch and all in the seams, around the posts and under the windows. ICK! So it's time to pull them all out. There is a bonus to it all: the fox tails all stick together. Once you get a handful and begin to pull them off the cement, you get a huge pile. But they are sticking in the seams of the porch and sidewalk and they do not want to come out. UGH! So S'mee thinks I'll just power wash them off the cement. (yeah, I know it wastes water, but I am disparate.)

I go and get the hose. The nossle thing-y (don't you just love the sound of the word "nossle"?), anywho, I turn the water on full blast and squeeze the trigger hoping for a very powerful stream to blast out the foxtails.... the danged trigger doohickey snapped like a twig.

Hello almost finished remodeled department store! I saunter into the garden department. (You know it is spring when they bring out the colourful flowers and tropical plants that will never last two weeks here in the desert. Ahhh...) I carefully ponder which of the assorted hand held trigger power sprayers will do the deed and head up to the counter. Hmmm. Lookie there, one of those new fangled "fireman" hoses they sell on t.v. And, it's in a reel! You got me with the reel. I detest the fact that the only faucet is about two feet from our front door and the hose is ALWAYS unrolled and waiting to trip up any visitors. (Thor says it is a trap for wayward salesmen and the home teachers.) Every time I have bought a reel for the hose there has been a problem. But I see that this one is MADE for the hose and actually comes with it! How can I go wrong?

$20 later and I am on the porch again. I am a reader and follower of instructions. (geek alert) So I carefully open the packaging and find the info. "Attach the nossle (!) to the end of the hose. It is very important that the hose is completely off of the reel BEFORE attaching to the faucet and filling with water. " I can visualize the why for this -so I begin to unreel the hose. I get to the very end, the 'faucet end' of the hose and it is literally locked inside the reel and as far as I can figure CANNOT be removed without breaking the reel. I search the information again hoping to find the secret 'obvious' button that magically releases the hose. Nope. Not there. O.K. I will figure it out later it's getting too hot to be outside. I need to rid the porch of the foxtails!

I grab the other power nossle (thinking to self, "at least you decided to still get that! smart cookie!) and attach it to the old hose. Full force water here we come! I feel the pressure rising in the hose. I see the hose dance in anticipation of expelling H2O in a force yet unexperienced. I pull the trigger and WHOooooooooooosh dribble dribble .

Man! That was totally disappointing. I turn to the faucet, sure that I didn't give it enough of a turn. Nope, wide open. The stinky trigger nossle thing-y is just weak! WEAK! grrr. So now the foxtails are clean, wet, and stuck into the seams of my porch.

Well, tomorrow is a new day. I love returning stuff. oh well; could be worse. Could be stickers from the tumble weeds.