Though this brook trout was no trophy, it was the biggest brook trout I have ever caught; not that I had much to compare to, with the prior one tipping out at seven inches. I dipped the trout back into the water, and it didn’t hesitate to scramble away to freedom.
After a few more casts I continued my way around the lake and pitched my fly in, and around, any object in the water. Coming up empty handed was a bit discouraging, so I pressed on and through a thick portion of bushes without getting my fly line caught once in its grabby branches. Not a single tangle through that mess made me happy, and I was even more happy when I casted out my line and got a hit.
The fish was quick to take, and just as quick to shake the hook off. I could tell by its colors that it was a brook trout, and a small one at that. Still, it would have been nice to land the last fish of the day, and I knew I needed to get back to where Gracy and Callie were. To keep myself from making another cast I clipped off my fly, reeled in my line, and swiftly returned, running into Kiwi first.
“Kiwi, are you ready to go home?” I asked her. She looked at me, slightly lifted her ears ,and gave me three wags of her little tail; in Kiwi language this meant "yes".
The hike back wasn’t bad at all, if you were Kiwi. We picked her up on all the steep embankments, and she got treats when she minded. And when a treat is involved, she always minds. The nice thing about the end of the hike was a small cooler we had back at the vehicle with a few treats of our own which we happily drank on the way back home.
When we arrived back in Boise I was a little hungry, and that’s when I remembered my sandwich. Prior to driving back home, I packed it in the cooler so that the ice would keep it cool for later. When our packs were back in the house, I went out to grab my sandwich and was mortified. In the bag I had, obviously not completely sealed, was about two inches of water, fully submerging my gourmet sandwich.
“Damn it! No, no!” I yelled.
“What’s the matter?” Gracy asked, peaking her head into the garage.
“It’s my sandwich!” I wined, “there’s water in the bag, and it’s ruined!”.
“Well next time you will learn to be more careful.” She snapped, with no hint of consideration in her voice.
“YOU DON’T EVEN CARE!” I yelled, and with all my might I slammed my sandwich on the concrete floor. The water inside the bag shot everywhere, along with a few slivers of salami and roasted red peppers, covering the ground like confetti.
“Feel better now?” Gracy asked, sternly.
“NO!” I snapped.
“Well, you are not coming in until you clean up the mess you made.” She said, and shut the door behind her.
I stood there alone, looking at what had become of the rest of my $11.00 sandwich. Slowly... and reluctantly... I started to clean it up.