Evening all. I got the fire banked, the coffee on, and sourdough biscuits on the rise overnight.
All is sunny in California. Today was 95, with 45% humidity and not a cloud in the sky. Pretty interesting day, though. I almost had a bout of fisticuffs.
I took the dog for a nice long car ride, to the tune of 100 miles. Rolled the odometer to 187000 on the way back. That's 3,000 miles I've put on the truck, but that's neither here no there.
Anyway, we were at a pond up north a ways that the state just stocked last week with rainbow trout, hoping I could make a video. There were a number of people there, but there was enough room for me to have an entire shore to myself, so I tossed out a line and set my pole down in a Y-stick, then went off with the dog to catch some bullfrogs a ways off. While we were out frogging (no luck, by the way), a total hipster/yuppie pulled in. Del's favorite type of guy: skinny jeans, iphone, starbucks, driving a hybrid crossover. The works.
He could have fished anywhere along the quarter mile of free bank, but he decided the absolute best place was exactly where my pole was. While I was at my truck to get a sip of water, he sets up with a spinner and casts directly across my line. I was using a sinker and sinking line, so it wasn't really a problem. I told him politely that my line was there, but that it should be fine if he was careful to keep up in the top couple feet of water. He told me that he was going to fish where he wanted, and that I could go stuff it basically (that's the "grandma friendly" version). Instead of running over and slapping him like I really wanted to, I told him to watch his mouth since there were some young children within earshot, that I had been there first and if he was trying to intimidate me into leaving he would have to do a lot better than run his tongue.
He set down his pole and started stomping over, rolling up his sleeves. I told my dog to get up in the truck (it surprised me when she listened so quickly. Pleasant surprise, though), hung my Stetson on the antenna and came to meet him, pulling a Cliint Eastwood and kicking up the dust every time I stepped. The Peacock effect my uncle calls it: making yourself look a lot more bada$$ than you actually are. I.e. a bluff.
Here's where I mention that I was actually pretty nervous. I'm only 5'6", and this fellow was around six feet. Definitely at a size disadvantage. But how seriously can you take someone who's wearing skinny jeans, flip-flops and drinking Starbucks?
We got close and he stood there glaring down at me for a few seconds. Then he got back in a sort of karate stance and started moving his hands like Bruce Lee. Then he just says "F-you" and drives away.
So there's my John Wayne moment of the month for you.
I also caught a racer snake, and ate cookies.
--TK
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