and almost certainly come home with twice as many fish as I had caught.
Ridgecrest. We packed are bags, grabbed are fishing poles, loaded the camper and were on are way. Our
drive lasted for four very long hours before we got to the Postpile campground. We hitched are camp and
made ourselves right at home knowing we would be there for a while. We could’nt ask for better weather,
the sun was blazin and the temperature was an awesome 85 degrees for fishing the San Juaqin river. We
there was no possible fishing hole in sight. All I could see was a river about seventy to eighty feet below
with one very big obsticle in the way jagged rocks were surrounding me from the river as I just kept on
lying in the middle of the river, just where the cliffs had seemed to vanish. I gracefully climbed out onto the
old tree, where below was nothing but roaring rapids crashing into rocks and creating small pools, where I
knew there had to be ten’s of thousands of starving fish. I then baited up my hook with a slimmy earthworm
and dropped it into the waters below. Jerking and pulling at my bait I began to get very impatient, after
about ten to fifteen grooling minutes of this nonsense, I decided to put on the numero uno bait of them all
the Panther Martin. Probably the best known lure to man. I casted it out far into the depths of the raging
river and before I could say “bite” I had struck gold. That fish was fighting and pulling at my pole like Mike
Tyson. I thought for sure that I was going to bring up a fish worth the price of gold. After a long hard fight
I finally reeled my prize in to the base of the old dead tree, and to my disapointment it was a whole five
inches SMALL. “Unbelievable” I yelled out, throwing my tired arms in the air. These were’nt your
everyday trout I was going for either though, they were the sacred Brown Trout, naturals is you wish to
down the no whatsoever trail, bumping into rocks and slamming into trees, hoping to find his big brother.
Well I never found that big, bold and beautiful fish I was looking for, but I certainly got my fair share for the
day. Finding my way through the dense forest I stumbled upon my campground where I was the first of
the fisherman back. Showing my prize trophies to my mom, just hoping that I was the luckiest on this fine
day, but sure enough my dad came back soaking wet, with his mud dreched clothes, holding a stringer
minute closer to Ridgecrest ws also every minute closer to next years camp trip to the Sierra Nevada’s.