I've already mentioned before about life, lemons and vodka. But I think I should probably add this mantra to the list: "A bad day fishing beats....sitting around moping and feeling sorry for yourself."
When one is commemorating a day, however superstitious it might be to still commemorate that day, sometimes the best person to have around is your dad.
Dad and Jake (Ellie's Dad) came up on Thursday for a weekend of fishing. We went to South Lake outside of Bishop, in hopes of catching some of the purported eight pound trout.
Dad had never been to a Sierra lake before, which made it even more special for me to take him there.
It was a bit frustrating, since we didn't catch anything but malaria or possibly West Nile Virus. But that's not the point of fishing with your dad, right?
Thanks for coming, Dad. It meant a lot to have you here. Next time we'll catch something. Or not. Whatever.
All the romance of trout fishing exists in the mind of the angler and is in no way shared by the fish.
Harold F. Blaisdell, The Philosophical Fisherman, 1969