…not because of the smog on the horizon. (However, it is relatively clear.)
…not because it is hot!
…not because the last 17 miles of our trip, because of traffic, took an hour.
…but because I found my car covered by a layer of ash from the various brush fires.

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Today we traversed much of the Golden State…which is quite “golden” right now. With these golden hills comes our season fires, and we saw one as we buzzed down the highway and evidence of others.  Of course, we stopped at Split Pea Anderon’s in Santa Nella, where our short walk from the car to the restaurant hinted at the heat we would face. Still love that soup, though! While it took us about six hours to travel from Benicia to Los Angeles, we found ourselves in stop and go traffic at the junction of Hwy 5, 10, 101 and 60. It took us about an hour to travel the last 17 miles to our exit!

After a quick check in, it was off to Medieval Times. Everyone else in the family had been there and were quite excited. I didn’t know what to expect. I’ll tell you what, it is quite the experience. The food was good and the entertainment nonstop, with knights participating in full contact games in the arena, which was less than fifteen feet away from our seats. Then it was off to bed with visions of Mickey dancing in our heads.

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Looking at my longer hair in the mirror prior to a haircut this week, it seems that it’s become my time to shine. I found little hints of silver sparking as I turned my head.  I don’t take it as a sign that I’m getting older, after all, even you, gentle visitor, will never be as young as you were when you began reading this sentence.  Truthfully, I don’t care what color my hair becomes, so long as it stays on my head.  I did make a few observations of late, howver, that I am “older”:

For someone somewhat technically inclined, I not only don’t text people using my cell phone; I don’t even know how to do it.  Also, some people are shocked that I still pay some bills by check and have been known to physically step into a bank branch to interact with live human tellers.

But I still like my free “highlights.”

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Every now and again I am plagued by regrets stemming from an internal disconnect between a desire for friendship and the actions it takes to maintain such a relationship. Though only three times have I overtly expended effort to rekindle old friendships, twice through e-mail and once at a high school class reunion, I do know what some of my ol’ chums from Humboldt State University are up to thanks to the now-recognized action of “googling.”  (My thanks to the editors of Merriam-Webster Collegiate Dictionary.)

I must say, however, that googling former classmates and friends might skew one’s opinion of one’s self.  As I plow ahead as a managing editor at a modest publishing company — and not, by any means, saving the world — some of the people I once knew seem to have climbed quite high on the ladder of professional (and hopefully personal) success. 

A former roommate of mine seems to have written a number of research papers on the flora and fauna of Pu’ukohol & Heiau National Historic Site on Hawaii.  A friend with whom I spent many hours laughing at reruns of Star Trek — that’s the Original Series starring the ever so subtle Mr. Shatner — ascended through the ranks of academia, completing work for an M.A. in San Francisco and a Ph.D. in New York, teaching at USC and, from what I can find, is now an Assistant Professor of English and Comparative Literature at American University of Kuwait.  Another friend works as an Interpretive Specialist for the California State Parks system at the Anza-Borrego Desert State Park.

After googling friends for a while, imagining their homes, their families and what they may look like some 20 years later, I had to stop. Not because of those little pangs of regret, but because now that I have found them, I find myself wrestling with a decision to act. These people might never pause to think of me, or google me, but I can still hear their laughter and encouraging words. 

In the end, I am humbled to think that all those years ago I could call myself a “friend” to these pretty amazing folks.

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We headed up to the cabin last Thursday…it was nice to make the drive during the week and avoid traffic! My nephew Nick was attending summer camp in Twain Harte, so, since my sister would be in town, I offered a chance to stay a few days. I met Luci and her youngest son, Nathan, at the Tracy In-N-Out, a favorite lunchtime stop, about noon Thursday. We parted ways but soon joined up again at the cabin. After I quickly whacked the weeds, we headed to Twain Harte Lake, where the weather and water were great. Truthfully, the water wasn’t that great. Water weeds — one of Luci’s least favorite aspects of lake swimming — were quite high. The lake had recently been treated for the infernal vegetation, but the affects were not yet evident.

A decision was made on Friday that I would take my nephews to Moccasin Creek, so after a morning of playing games and generally being lazy, we headed west on Hwy 108, then south on Hwy 120. We arrived just before the hatchery was to close, but did get to ogle some of the brood fish and the mass quantities of trout ready for stocking. We first wetted our lines at the base of the dam, but the fish were running deep and not interested in what we had to offer. While Nathan and his mom played in the water and chased crayfish, Nick and I ventured through the blackberries and bugs to my favorite spot. Using PowerBait, Nick got one nibble. I was lucky enough to hook three decent-sized rainbows using my favorite Panther Martin (red body/gold blade). Then it was back to the dam, where the boys splashed around and skipped rocks…including the biggest boy.

I left the cabin mid-morning Saturday to head to Modesto, where I picked up Chris after lunch at Garcia Jo Jo’s. On our ride back to the cabin, we stopped at Moccasin Creek, where the catching was again a bit slow. I landed one rainbow after my fist cast, but that was about it. It was back to the cabin and to the lake, where we had a great 4th of July hamburger dinner, even if the wait was a bit long. As the sun set, Chris, Nick and Nathan headed to the lake inlet with fishing poles in hand. Chris did catch some fish.  However, they were a bit difficult to see…none were longer than my pinkie finger. (Big-mouthed baby bass.)

Sunday started early, with Chris and I out the door by 6:30 a.m. We planned to spend the day at Kennedy Meadows, but fast and high water changed our minds. We saw numerous fishermen pass by, but all were empty handed. Finding that we were close to Sonora Pass, I figured we could head on over to the “Eastside,” where Chris wanted to hit one of his favorite spots: Lee Vining Creek. The water was again high with none of the regular pools. No rises to flies and nothing on spinners. I suggested heading up the Tioga Road for a look at Saddlebag Creek, which we also found running quite fast…so fast that one fly fisherman who was there teaching a buddy had no expectations of a bite. On our list of streams to check out was the section of Lee Vining Creek that goes between Tioga and Ellery lakes, so off we went. Chris was again skunked here, but I happened to hook three small trout on a gold Mepps, but only pulled one — a nine-inch brook — to shore. (In fumbling for my camera and minimize any stress on this trout, the little brookie opted to release itself from my barbless hook.) After lunch, we stopped at Pickle Meadows, another spot we had wanted to check out, and chatted with some fly fishermen who were departing after fishing the West Walker River most of the day. One of these gentlemen has fished the area for going on a decade and predicted that it will be another two weeks before the West Walker might even be ready for fishing. Chris and I walked a stretch of the river to find, like everything else, it’s still running very high and fast, though the color is clearing up. Though there was little catching on this trip, the weather was beautiful and my batteries were recharged!

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