Gone fishing

It was still sunny and warm when little boy and I left the city behind, and drove up to the mountains. We were just the two of us in the car. We had a nice trip, playing AC/DC, Iron Maiden and Led Zeppelin, load, all the way. It was dark when we arrived in our family cabin.

The next morning it was raining. We only went for a short hike. I slid on a slippery rock and fell into the river.
"Are you OK", little boy shouted. He looked a little bit anxious.
"No problem", I just got wet.
"Do you wanna go back to the cabin?"
"No, We can stay if you want to, I’m not cold."

I took off all my clothes, and stood naked on a rock. The rain had stopped for a while, and the wind gusts coming down the mountain sides felt warm. I emptied my boots, twisted my clothes, to squeeze out as much water as possible. Then I put the clothes back on. The digi-cam in my pocket was wet, and didn't work anymore.

Later, when we returned to the cabin, our fish bag was still empty.

On the 2nd day, the rain had stopped. My clothes were dry, and my camera came back to life (beating Jesus by one day). We went up to a pond where we always catch fish, without exception. It's a one-hour hike along a white-water river, to a deep canyon, above the timber line. Little boy's cousin and uncle joined us too.

We stopped at the top of the gorge to eat some sandwiches. Then we climbed down to the river.
"Be careful," I told little boy, "check the rocks before you step on them, to make sure they don't slide."
"Yes, I know, I've been here before."
"And remember that climbing down is more difficult than climbing up," I added.

Down in the canyon, we put bite on the hook and threw it into the river. Little boy threw the line towards the mountain wall on the other side of the canyon, and let the bite drift towards the white-water fall. He hooked a trout on the first throw. We always do in that pond.
"I wanna kill it myself," said little boy.
"OK, just knock the fish head against a rock a few times," I said.
We put the trout on a big flat rock, and a smaller rock on top of it, to make sure it didn't escape between the boulders. The trouts move for half an hour after they're dead.

In two hours, we caught ten fish all together. The trouts were quite solidaric and fair; they went evenly on little boy's and little cousin's hooks. (The Tea Party guys have something to learn from the fish.)
"We got twice as many last year," said little boy.
"That's not important. Ten is good enough, and then we leave some fish for the guys who come here next time."

On the 3rd day, the weather changed. Northern winds brought cold air down from the Arctic, and temperatures dropped to less than 10 degrees (50 Fahrenheit). We had to find our gloves in the suitcase before we went out.

We caught 3 trouts and lost even more.

On the 4th day we didn't fish at all. We sat in the forest with our knives, carving stuff out of birch branches, and we picked 3kg (6 pounds) of cloud berries on the moors.

Then we returned to the civilization; to newspapers, TV, cell-phone coverage and Internet. I must admit I didn't miss is >:)

(The picture above is from the 2nd day. It's our best pond in the lower part of the picture. We always catch fish on the first throw, and usually on the 2nd and 3rd throws as well. There are two similar ponds above, but they are not accessible. Actually, when I was a kid, my father climbed down to the uppermost pond, making a rope with T-shirts tied together. My brother and I sat on the top watching (without T-shirts). My mother got furious when she heard of it: "Such a lack of responsibility, setting his life at stake to catch fish, with his little kids watching". I have never tried to copy his stunt, and I never will.)