I caught up with Jennifer and Frank about 8 AM this morn. It was nice to see Frank
again after so many years. It's amazing how well he looks and gets along at such an
advanced age--101 years I think he said. Hadn't seen Frank since the Spring Fling in
2000, when we first met. We reminisced, which didn't take to long, talked about my
job prospects for the future, ROFF, life in general, and where we might fish.

I chose to fish one of Uncle Wally's favorite stream, while Jennifer and Frank chose
to fish a stream that parallels Hwy 321 between Boone and Blowing Rock, or Bowling
Rock, if you go with Franks pronunciation? Weather was the deciding factor as to
where Jennifer and Frank would fish. I, on the other hand, wanted to fish wild trout
and didn't especially care to witness or be party to any on stream spankings. So I
headed out by my lonesome.

The hike into this stream about 20 or so minutes, and about half way in I notice that
someone is in the middle of the trail. Then I realize why they aren't moving in any
particular direction. THE ***** IS TAKIN' A ***** RIGHT ON THE
TRAIL!!!!!!!!!!!

I hang back a ways behind some rhodos, waitin' for the ***** to complete his mornin'
constitutional. Just as he gets his britches up I emerge and walk on past him. He's
got two fuckin' aluminum hikin' poles and the dumbshit can't even get off the trail to
do his business?

Anyway, I get to the trails end and begin castin'. Nothin' on the first 5 or so
casts, and I'm beginnin' to believe that not only do I think the para-Adams I tied
last night is butt ugly, but the fish have figured it out too. :~^( I made my way up
to a stretch of water where a monster broke me off the last time I fished this
stretch--Jennifer was there and can attest to the break-off last time. I was hopin'
to hook the same beggar, but the water was very murky due to heavy rains last night or
early this morn. I keep castin' where I know the old fat boy should be hangin', but
nothin'. Naturally, I hook a smallish brown, and then a tree branch. Oh well,
there's lots of stream ahead of me and the shitter has headed far down the trail in
the other direction. No other fishers on the stream.

My para-Adams has become a sinker, after catchin' a few more browns in the 9 inch
range. I tie on a PMD. I fish it for about 15 minutes with no takers. I tie on a
GIANT # 12 elk hair caddis that I also tied last night. I miss a big strike and can't
get the fella to try again. The caddis has begun to come apart--did I mention it was
giant, ugly, and poorly tied?

I tie on a #14 quill bodied mosquito/Hendrickson lookin' thingy. I'm back on track
again. Catchin' and honorin' trout left and right. Then I do a left-side Reid! Damn
that waters cold and them rocks a tough on the old elbow. The rains begin in earnest
and decide to hook one more fish and hit the trail out. Luckily, I land a nice 13
inch brown--give or take a foot.

I get to the truck and the rain begins to come down in buckets.

Stopped by to see Jennifer and Frank on my way home, but I guess it was Frank's nappy
time again.

Night all.

Mark