Monday, August 22, 2011

It's Every Bear for Himself (or Herself) When the Crick Is Rising

"Crick" is a backwoods (or hillbilly, if you like) form of creek. Another way of saying If God's Willing, is "If the Lord's willing and the crick don't rise". I'm not sure where a creek fits in the size category, compared to brook, stream and river. My guess is that it's a rough and tumble stream, but then my imagination likes to run wild. But for me, the idea of fishing in a creek creates a picture of a bare-foot boy, in a loose shirt and overalls, wearing a big straw hat, and fishing with a long pole, made from a tree branch, with fishing line tied to it.
Anyroad, Albert and I had quite a time fishing down Maine way. We found a nice stretch of river (sorry, don't remember the name) off the beaten path (very little traffic, human or vehicle). Albert did pretty well for awhile, learning how to handle a fishing pole, as well as the worms we used for bait. He was doing so well, that when I went around a bend in the river to look for a better spot to put my line in the water, I wasn't too concerned about losing sight of him. And that's where the trouble came in.
I did find a good spot. And while I was landing a 14 inch rainbow trout, it seems Albert had a run-in with a game warden who was checking fishing licenses, but who wasn't expecting to find a bear in baggy clothes and a floppy hat, who was fishing with a fishing pole. It probably would be more appropriate to say, the game warden, God rest his soul, had a run-in with Albert. Exactly how it all went down (happened), I couldn't tell you. By the time I got there, after first hearing all the growling and yelling, there wasn't much left of that fish and game warden.
So, after making Albert wash up (he was a mess), we got out of there like our tails were on fire. Well, neither one of us has a tail to speak of, but you get the idea.
Needless to say, I don't plan on taking Albert fishing again any time soon. In fact, I don't plan on going back to Maine until a good amount of time has passed. A few years, anyway.
 Might have been better for that game warden if the crick had risen, suddenly and considerably. And definitely, before any of us had arrived.

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