Mothers Day

That's right. That special day of the year when we celebrate that special person who has given all of us so much, our mother. That day when we, somehow, acknowledge the gifts and sacrifices that our mothers gave us to help us get to where we are. That acknowledgment is habitually expressed via cards, flowers, other small gifts, breakfast in bed, special dinner out and so forth. One item not commonly found on that list might be Bass Fishing. Right on the short list of "do not include" with Tractor Pull, Home Depot Power Tool Sale, and $0.39 Wing Night.

For better or worse, we didn't get wings or power tools, but we got Bass Fishing. Maybe Steve was looking to maximize the rural Appalachian experience (think Jeff Foxworthy: "You might be a redneck if...") after our Friday night Bluegrass jam session but whatever the case, we were up and at 'em at 6:30 on Mothers Day and out of the house by 8:30 under leaden skies with a promised high of 55 degrees.

As a willing participant in this little adventure, I'll throw Steve a little lifeline at this point since, unless he knows someone with a really comfortable couch, or who is a little slow, phoning a friend is pretty much out of the question. The "Bass Fishing" trip also involved a "float trip" down a nice, scenic section of the New River. The trip was scheduled long before the weather forecast was known and even in the face of "guaranteed rain", the previous two days had come through sunny. The majority of the participants had a bang up time in spite of the rain and 48 degree temperatures and would absolutely do it again. Unfortunately for Steve, and fortunately for the reading public, none of that makes for a really good story. Sorry Steve...

So off we went, bundled like we were headed skiing, to make our rendezvous at the gas station. No problem. Got there on time, signed away our liability and our rights to consume Mercury laden fish, cajoled Elena into the outfitter's van, and headed for the put in. Rain threatened but held off and optimistic eyes looked for clearing skies. We got to the put in and our two little boats and further cajoled Elena to actually get into the boat (on my lap) and we were off under some spectacular limestone cliffs.

Our guide (we had two boats, Erin and Steve in one, Jackie, Elena, and I in the other) was a little concerned. Jackie was on the "no fishing list" and with Elena in my lap I wasn't going to be doing much except sitting. 400 yards down the river Elena headed for Gram, I took a cast or two, and we were digging out the "Dora the Explorer Bass Master Triton" fishing pole that, miraculously, delivers a caught fish on every cast. The color is a little suspect, but that purplish tinge and rubbery texture are probably side effects of Mercury accumulation. And then Elena discovered "rapids" and "waves". Game on. Fishing, sure, that's pretty good. But Andy, head for those WAAAVEEESS! Our guide was great and willingly and safely took us through every class 0.2 riffle that we encountered to rave reviews from the youngest member of our crew.



And then the fish started biting. Erin caught two:



I reeled in six:



And Steve, in an act of vengeance from the God of Motherhood, was unilaterally spurned by the bass. Elena later summed it up as "Poppa caught hundreds of fish, Little Opa didn't catch any."

The biting of the fish also coincided with the commencement of the rain. Jackie said, "It looks misty up ahead". Then Andy said "I think I felt a drop". Then it started raining. Steadily. Some variation in intensity, but a constant wetting for the most part that slowly escalated over the next couple of hours into outright downpour, thunder, and lighting. Andy spent that last 30 minutes of our "float" pulling like a pirate for a brothel while Elena, who never fussed a whit after getting into the boat, took a nap in Gram's lap. Presumably the body heat Jackie was losing converted the puddled water into a comfortable resting temperature for Elena. In the picture you can see the angelic look on Elena's face and note the intensity of the rain on the water but you'll notice that Jackie's face is not visible, though I suspect it was largely responsible for Andy's efforts at the oars.









When we hit the boat landing we unloaded Elena and rushed under a bridge to get out of the rain. That's right, if Bass Fishing wasn't the Mothers Day treat of all time, throw in the "wino package" and you've got a cherished memory in the making. In the comfortable shelter of concrete, we traded wet clothes for semi-damp and piled into the car for our triumphant return to civilization, hot showers, and "Five Guys" burgers. Reading from the thermometer in the car? 48 degrees. To add insult to injury, the sun shone brightly as soon as we arrived home and continued to do so for the rest of the day.

All in all it was a day that will be remembered for years. If you see Steve after Fathers Day, ask to feel his legs -- Rumor has it that "Fathers Day at the Spa" is going to feature waxing... lots of waxing.