These past three months I’ve resigned myself to not being home and anyway calling a place home that you frequent for three months a year is probably a joke….I’ve spent more time in my camper in the last 90 days than at a mailing address mostly fishing and a fair amount of hunting. From BC steelhead, to Virginia whitetail, eastern Washington migratory birds, and Oregon steel, The Crumpster and I have covered some territory.
This last stint I headed out to meet up with The Crumpster and Stam for some exploratory steelheading. After a few hours driving, I pulled the camper into a spot many miles up stream and far from the reaches of a cell tower. And after a few ceremonial sodas, a dice tournament, and some next day strateg-ery, we decided to call it a night. As we turned for bed, I realized we were missing one very important thing…sleeping bags. The Crumpster, being one who gets overly excited when challenging opportunities arise, was nearly jumping up and down. Stam merely laughed from his zero degree Everest bag and wiped sweat from his brow. Grumbling, I adorned my Micro Puff pants and Down Jacket (comparable to walking in a sleeping bag) and crawled under the foam mattress topper…a heavy and scratchy blanket, but one none the less. A few cold hours later we woke to snow on the ground, drank some hot coffee, then headed down stream to launch the raft and find some fish.
The morning appeared to forecast sunshine after laying a few inches of snow on the ground overnight.