My failure to take notes is making me crazy. Last year, pre-Boat, I'd often spend an hour in the morning sitting at the table and writing down notes. But when we are going fishing in the morning, I have only enough time to eat breakfast and then it's all about getting ready--doing my morning toilette: putting on the makeup, styling my hair, choosing my wardrobe....
Ha ha. Can you believe people actually do that stuff? No, me neither. With me it's more like deciding which clothes I still have left, putting water and snacks in the cooler, and getting my bird book and binoculars in the boat. And walking the dogs, of course. And taking pictures of the deer across the river:
The Bewick's Wren came by while I was getting ready. Those guys have an amazing song--I'm sure it would get old after a while, but for a few days it's awesome.
I'm thinking on future trips I need to make a solemn vow to always get up fifteen minutes before sunrise. I'll need to check sunrise time and then set an alarm, but it would be worth it. This trip I got up at about seven o'clock each morning, but sunrise was at 6:38. By the time I emerged from Mammoth's dark bowels, the cool of the night was being driven out by the blast furnace heat of the day.
But at least we got on the lake early that morning--we were there by nine o'clock according to the fish finder's clock. Sadly, the fish had gone to sleep. My theory is they stay awake feeding all night and then go to bed when the sun's rays start angling into the water.
I saw and heard the canyon wrens again, of course, and a couple of thousand of Black Vultures. But other than that, whatever birds were hidden in the bushes stayed hidden. I once believed that in the boat I'd be sure to see see scads of birds, but that's seldom true. I saw about a million Cormorants and a few hundred Pelicans one time, and I saw a troupe of Mallard Ducks on Lavon, but mostly since then it's been nothing--a few swallows; a lonesome Cormorant or two; Great Blue Herons and Great Egrets. I hope it will get better in the fall, when the northern migrants return to Texas.
The fish weren't biting so well that day. I think I eventually caught a couple of small crappie...or maybe it was just one. We tried the previous day's spot, then went on down Cedar Creek toward the main lake, testing out both shallow waters and deep. No fish. Eventually we returned to our original spot and had more bites but fewer fish. And the trolling motor decided to go whacky-doodle and spin us around in circles for now apparent reason--it had never done that before and after resetting, didn't do it again. But it was a pretty scary event.
I think we were both a little tired of fishing after four days of it. In future, I think two or at most three consecutive days of fishing would be enough. So we knocked off early and went to get ice for our sushi dinner.
But first we went over to the other Corp of engineers park on this lake. There are three of them--Westcliff where we stayed before, Cedar Ridge where we currently abided, and Live Oak Ridge. Oddly enough, Live Oak Ridge was a whole lot more crowded than Cedar Ridge and had a lot less to offer. Some of the sites were very close together, almost none of them had lake views, and the landscape was flatter and sort of boring. Note to future self: if you have to camp there--with no other choice--get one of the sites on the lake side of the road and farthest away from the gate. They were spaced out better. But either Westcliff or Cedar Ridge would be preferable.
As we were heading out, Edward came in. He'd left work a little early because he was still miserable from the sunburned feet and legs of two days before. I remember getting a blistered back once as a teenager, but I don't think I've ever seen blisters quite so hideous as the ones on top of his feet. We plied him with all the medicines in our stash--Aloe Vera lotion, antiseptic spray, gauze pads, moleskins.... With any luck this would be the worst day of it, and he'd start feeling better on the morrow.
So the "big plan" for the highlight of our trip was a sushi/tempura dinner. Ed did 95% of the work but I washed the dishes before and after, so I consider it equal. (That was supposed to make you grin.) In any event, he made the rice while I took the dogs for a long walk, then he prepared the tempura batter while I cut up the vegetables and started cooking some frozen shrimp in an electric deep fryer out on the picnic table. It worked very well once I got the hang of it. However, I will have to admit that the frozen, pre-battered shrimp came out tasting a little greasy. They were made to be warmed up in an oven, so the coating was already cooked in oil. Recooking them in oil ended up being too much oil.
So next time we'll just do fresh shrimp, and maybe some scallops if we can find any that are harvested in an ocean-friendly manner. The vegetables were okay--squash, mushrooms and onions. Next time I'll add broccoli.
And that's pretty much it for our camping trip with Edward. It's a shame that we let the television dominate so much of our conversations--at one point he was describing his day and his sunburn issues, but I was in the bathroom and couldn't understand a word he was saying over the loud TV. It has to be loud to be heard over the air conditioning fan, but what's the harm in turning if off for ten minutes every once in a while, to allow conversation?
He fell asleep on the couch shortly after supper. Ii took the dogs for their walks separately that night--I just couldn't handle them both at once. Zack is old and crippled, of course, and while he can move pretty darn fast when he wants to, most of the time he doesn't. And Molly is straining on the leash whenever I take my attention off her. So it's no fun for me walking them together. I can go at either dog's speed and have a good time--at Zack's speed I get to do a bit of stopping and staring; at Mollydog's, a bit of exercise.
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