Fishing - For three nights, two days and a breakfast

it was my great pleasure to be hosted, in my 'umble abode, by Mr. John "four fingers"
(Asadi) Baker.

John arrived around 8ish thirty or so on Friday eve. After a few seconds of
greetings, we headed to a steak house. John hadn't eaten since his 4AM pork cops, the
mornin' before. John ordered a dark beer and was promptly told that the restaurant
didn't serve that beer anymore, even though it was on the menu. John orders another
brand, again they didn't have it. John asks if they served any dark beer? The
waitress said they did, amber bach something or other. John ordered a Fosters, no go!
John orders a Samuel Adams. "We don't have that either," says the waitress. I ask if
they have any beer? "Oh yeah, we serve Bud and Miller" (straight from the horse, I
presume!). Amazingly, the waitress did return at some point with a Fosters. John
ordered the fillet and I the prime rib, and both were excellent and cooked just
right? We headed back to the house and BS'd 'till late in the eve.

We rose around 7:30 AM, got our **** together and headed out to Upper Creek. The road
into the furthest campin' spots is still gated, after the floods. We parked across
the concrete bridge, John broke out his portable Espresso thingy, and we drank a very
strong brew while we geared up.

We had fished for forty-five minutes to an hour and the fishin' sucked, we headed
elsewhere.

It's tough to leave a stream that you are actually fishin' for a stream that you
intend to fish, but I knew that things weren't likely to get any better. We headed up
the mountain to one of Uncle Walt's favorite streams. I like this stream a lot, but
it is kinda out of the way for me, what with all the fishin' closer to home. I have
fished it enough times to know which sections hold a goodly number of trout. Within
the first 30 yards of put-in is a very nice stretch that has always produced. As a
matter of fact, I was broken off there earlier this year, while fishin' with Jennifer.
I suggested that John hit this stretch, never expecting that he actually would, since
I had gone on an on about how much I liked that hole and that it was sure gonna be
great to catch the biggest fish of my life there, with ROFFian witness in tow. Oh
well? I just wish we could have gotten a pic of the one that cut John's line, as it
was hugenormous!

The rest of the fish wasn't anything to write home about. I don't believe that I had
so much as a strike the entire day.

We got back to the house and returned a call to Uncle Walt. He said that he wasn't
sure about being able to meet up with us due to movin' his store into a larger
building. Something about being tired and all that. We didn't stay up quite as late
Sat. night as Fri. night, and arose Sun. morn. a bit early. Walt got up at 6:50AM to
call and tell us he was too tire to fish with us? I was still asleep as I hung-up and
realized that John and I were headed to waters that I had only ever fished with
Walt--I had no idea where we were goin'!

Well, we got there and passed several trails that could have been the one we wanted to
take, but I couldn't remember with any certainty which trail lead to which stream.
John seemed puzzled that I had no idea where I was. I have never been one to instill
a sense of awe in folks, but I try not to frighten the **** out of them with my total
lack of recall. We finally agreed to park and head down a trail, figurin' that we
would eventually end up at water. It occurred to me that Walt had done this very same
thing ONCE, up in these woods. He is still with us, but he wasn't sure at the time if
he would ever find his way back out.

We found water and John fished while I tried to hook insects in the branches of trees,
changed flies, changed leader and tippets, and thought about knockin' John in the head
and runnin' off with his cigarettes--I haven't smoked in over a month, but they are
all I think about, very single minute of every single day!

I would watch John cast to a gorgeous pool and think, "I wish I could crouch like
that. If I could, maybe I could sneak up on fish too. I bet that is one fine
cigarette John's smokin'. People might wonder where I got the new van from, but
they'd never find John way down here. Damn, he's caught another fish, that SO ...."

John wouldn't let me buy a damn thing while he was down here, includin' meals and then
he cooked us breakfast Monday morn.

Thanks so much for comin' down and out fishin' me John! The man is as fine a fishin'
buddy and friend as anyone could hope to find.

Mark