As you know, we spent an intimate Fourth of July weekend up at Lake Tahoe with a few million of our best friends.
We started off the big day by participating in the age-old American tradition of eating greasy breakfast meat products rolled into convenient serving sizes that accompany bleached white flour pancakes the size of car hubcaps that were fried on grills the size of a small aircraft carrier.
Of course, the volunteer fire department employed only the cutest of servers to entice us to consume these healthy food items, in full knowledge that within a short time they would be called to practice their fire department medical aid drills on us as we seize up with constricted arteries.
Everyone knows Lake Tahoe is rife with Bears Gone Wild and with the smell of breakfast sausages wafting through the forest, we should have been warned that the local Ursus residents might come a visiting to give us a little friendly mauling.
It was all I could do to defend myself. Where was my damned pepper spray when I needed it?
After breakfast, we drove south of Lake Tahoe, out to Caples Lake, along Highway 88—which very well may be the most spectacular scenery in California.
Caples Lake is a popular fishery but was reported to be under attack, last summer.
But, to paraphrase the old Mark Twain line, the rumors of the lake’s death were greatly exaggerated.
Apparently, the evildoers were repelled by minions of fishermen wielding their fiberglass rods and Rapala lures and the lake has recovered in good spirits, or so go the reports.
As the recent fishing rumors go—and we all know that there are few facts as told by the ilk (whether due to subterfuge or just plain old exaggeration)—there are some real lunkers plying the lake’s depths.
A comment left on my previous post questioned why no fishing paraphernalia was visible in the photos of our paddling the previous day.
Today’s pictures should leave no doubt as to what our intention was on Caples Lake. We were out for bear.
No wait, that was at breakfast. We were out for the Big Ones.
And anyone who has seen the movie Jaws knows that when you go out for big fish you need big tackle.
You think the bobber is large; you should see the size of the line attached, to say nothing of the hook that was being trolled behind.
You would think that large fishing tackle would be readily available from a number of suppliers, but we could only find one company selling that size of bobber we needed to support the 200 pound test line and anchor-sized fishing hook.
While certainly fishing was our main interest, the fact that the product was advertised that it could also hold a 12 pack of cold brewskis did not escape our attention. It gave added incentive to tow the massive weighted bobber all over the lake.
But, as in many products on today’s market, you can’t always believe the advertising.
Our athletic and able fisherwoman started noticing that she was beginning to slow down considerably.
While at first, she attributed the increase in paddling pressure to just thirst and anticipation of cracking open one of the microbrews being chilled on ice within just a few feet behind her. But something told her that either she, in fact, did have a Fish On, one of huge mackinaws reported to be in the lake, OR she might be experiencing some form of equipment malfunction.
Sure enough, unfortunately it was NOT a 50-pound mackinaw slowing down the boat.
So, we did the only thing we could to alleviate the problem that had become a real drag to our outing.
We drank the beer and loaded up the Big Bobber in something that would float.
Once emptied of its weighty content, the non-functional fishing device could be transported back to the truck.
Anyone fishing up there that happens to drag up a very large hook off the bottom, please drop me a line.
Oh, you’ll know it’s my hook…it has a bunch of breakfast sausages strung on it for bait.
And, of course, what would Fourth of July be without fireworks?