Monday, July 4, 2011

"And Vile Odours Crept Across The Land..."

We just got back from a long weekend at a cabin at Beaver Lake, where we enjoyed sunshine, smoke, hideous body aromas, scratching, and lack of anything electronic.  Then we got out of the minivan and unpacked at the lake...

Last year's camping trip saw me make fishing lures out of old fishing line, a stick, and some wire bent into a hook.  This contraption was created for the kids not so much to catch fish but to keep them amused attempting to catch fish (by coating the bottom of the lake with bits of bread and millions of gummy worms) for many hours, which was successful beyond my wildest dreams. 

This year, bait in the form of extraordinarily expensive (real) worms were employed, leading to the following conversation:

"Dad!  I caught something!"
"Bull fish"
"No, Dad.  It's true!  Look!  It's a real fish!"
"Yes - they are called Bull fish sweetheart.  Congratulations!  What are you going to do with it?"
"Can I cut it open and look at the guts?" (my daughter is beginning to exhibit certain gruesome personality characteristics which we'll discuss in a future column, perhaps after a visit with a mental health professional)
"He's a little small don't you think?" (the butt-ugly 'fish' in question was 2 inches in length - massively huge to a ten-year old).
"I think I'll put him in a bowl..." (later, while doing the dishes, I imagined the thoughts of the people checking into the cabin after our departure, using the same bowl for their spinach salad. Despite these delicious thoughts, I cleaned the bowl anyway...)
"Look!  He's barfing out the worm!  Cool!"

My appetite having departed, we spent the rest of our morning contemplating the effects of sunburn on the scales of a fish in a salad bowl, as well as the effects of Off insect repellant being sprayed into the same bowl.  Neither had any noticeable effect (on us either, come to think of it), so we threw the fish back into the lake to tell his comrades of his latest adventure.  His name was Harold, by the way.

I'll have more stories for you once I scrape off the accumulated filth from several days in the wilderness.  In the meantime, I'll enjoy the sound made by enormous sheets of sunburned, red skin being pulled from the top of my scalp and forehead.

Until next time...

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