Mississippi River Trip: If you ever camp with Larisa. . .

Don't let her pick the site.

Our initial plan was to stop at the edge of RMNP and camp in the campground there, but it was essentially a junk site.  Forty or so crowded tent pads with about a foot between campsites, and no view or anything else to speak of – the site was a no-go for us, so we moved on.  We found a state-run campground at Lake Granby and decided to stay there.  The campground was crowded and we were a little worried about finding a site, but the campground hosts told us some places to look, and we went looking.

Larisa wanted the first site we came across.  It wasn’t bad.  It was on hill, twenty feet away from the smell of the pit toilets and with a sweeping view of the campground hosts, water faucets, and trash cans. 

“Not here,” I told her.

“Why not?  There aren’t many sites.  What if we don’t find anything?”

“Okay, guard this and I’ll look for something better.”  

I took the car and found a marginally better site.  It was on a hill with two campsites on either side.  The unbroken view showed us the mountains, lake, and beach.  I couldn’t smell the toilets, so it was iffy, but I decided we’d stay there for the night instead of the first site.

We wound up staying two nights.  The fishing in the lake was splendid – for the fish.  I darn sure fed a lot of them on the first day.  The next morning I switched to a smaller hook (had to buy them, I’m set up for salt water more than fresh water) and headed out early to fish.  That’s when I realized that I’d managed to lose the little bag of tackle that I’d brought.  All of my hooks, line, sinkers, etc. were gone.  I searched the car.  Larisa searched the car.  We both asked the campground hosts if anyone had turned it in.  No joy.  Larisa went for a walk, presumably to ponder how she could marry such a buffoon.  I went down to the lake to fish.

The lake has trout, mostly, and a little carp.  I didn’t have a way to rig a bottom line, nor did I have a bobber for float fishing.  I explored the area and found a suitable piece of wood for a bobber, carved down the edges and made a hole in it, and set myself up with a jury rigged float.  I cast, I got a nice bite, and I brought the fish almost in.  The line broke, probably at my float contraption.  I gave up in frustration and went back to camp.  Larisa and I went and wandered the town, hitting the library briefly, then returned to the lake, where lo and behold, the fishing kit was sitting on the table!  I was tired, so I resolved to get up in the morning and fish early.  I did so, but didn’t get a nibble.  I also had to quit early because my license had expired and the fines are fairly exorbitant.  Maybe I’ll get in some fishing at Lake Powell.