Drowning Worms

My oldest son and I got up at 5am, loaded up the fishing poles and headed up to Payson to go fishing with my dad. Dad said, "Oh, be here around 7:30, we'll go grab some breakfast then go to the lake." It wasn't about "fishing" if you hit the lake around ten in the morning and don't take the boat.

When we arrived the truck was out of the garage, the extra poles, tackle box, two white styrofoam cups of worms and bottled water were all loaded in the back of the pickup and he met us on the front porch...he'd probably been sitting at the window watching the street.

The whole day was a quintessential "Dad" excursion. We left the house and went to "Tiny's" a mom and pop diner for breakfast. He knew the owners, that they were Greek, how many kids they had, yakked with the cashier about her new baby. When we went to the lake he greeted strangers as if he knew them all their life. "Any luck?" "Nothing for the last couple hours..." But we were there to fish, so we hiked in anyway...

We fished from shore for about an hour. It was just as the guy said in the parking lot, no bites.

So we left the lake and hiked back to the parking lot. We stopped about half way so Dad could catch his breath. The slight incline was too much after three triple and quadruple bypass operations. He drove us around "his neighborhood", the dirt roads of the Mogollon Rim. As we travelled around the back roads he told stories about his scout troop and how the Park Ranger Jim would let him and his scout troop camp anywhere they wanted to, even in the "no camping" areas around the lake. He knew who owned the old ranches and built this and that cabin. He mentioned my brother a few times (who died a drug addict about 6 years ago), the places along the way they hunted and camped together. We stopped at another lake and tried there for about an hour...and again succeeded in drowning a few more worms. Then, we travelled some more back roads and came out in Heber by the post office. We went to "Red's" for lunch there, and he talked to the cook about the chili he'd been watching him making.

We took the highway back to the house and while we sipped iced tea he dozed off in his recliner. When we left he loaded us up with a bag of zuchinni and crook neck squash from his garden. We didn't catch any fish, but I got a hug and a glad smile from my dad. A bad day fishing with your dad is better than a good day blogging.