Boise is Something and So Are People
I'd been sick for what felt like a month, out of town before that, and haven't fished in - well actually it'd only been a week but there was still lost time to make up for. But I told myself I needed to rest for one more weekend so I didn't stay sick longer, and it was supposed to rain, and there was work around the house. It was not a good time to go fishing.
Except that come 5pm on Saturday the golf was over on TV, the house was clean, dinner was finished already, the sun was shining, and I was bored. And I had what my Aunt would call a wild hair. Crazy idea that there could be rainbow trout leaving Lucky Peak to swim up Mores Creek and spawn for the spring, and there's an easy access point right where it meets Robie Creek to park and fish.
I was wrong. Well, maybe, I never actually found out. Mores Creek was a dirty racehound coming out of the mountains and I didn't even get out of the car to make a cast. Instead, with about 45 solid minutes of daylight left I was weaving through the neighborhoods near Barber Park (where more new homes way outside my budget are available for sale every time I drive by) to try a pond that is tucked away a bit but well-stocked.
I didn't catch anything there either. In case you haven't figured it out yet this blog is not about catching fish. But I was struck by two things on this trip. The first; my entire excursion was less than two hours from leaving the garage to slamming the door shut again. I saw mountains, deer, birds, an insect hatch. Drove through the middle of nowhere, part of Boise that feels more like a resort than a suburb, places where I've worked before, gone on dates in high school, and literally the heart of downtown. Everywhere I went there was a spot within about five minutes that "could have been worth a try".
The other thing I was struck by was that people are idiots. At the pond- wearing my jacket, t-shirt, jeans, and sandals on a Boise Spring day- I almost tripped and fell when my feet tangled in line someone had left behind. It didn't make me angry, like I know this will make some when they hear it. I calmly wound up the mess and collected it out of the water and the reeds growing on the bank. Walked 39 paces (yes, I counted) to a public trash can to deposit the potential bird-killer. And just stood puzzled. It was too big of a mess for someone to forget. It was laughably easy to clean it up. It was not difficult to pull the line out from where it lay. And doesn't everyone know at this point that they're not supposed to do that? I am just absolutely at a loss to explain why it was left there. So my message here is not a lecture. If whoever left that line there in that situation reads this, I honestly don't think any "pick up your mess, people" message I could write would change their mind. So I guess I'll say this instead; thank you to the other people I know are out there who pick up after the idiots, and I don't really mind being one myself (a mess picker-upper I mean. I don't litter. Although I have been accused of being an idiot, I'm sure). It's worth the work it to have this kind of place to live.
And maybe good karma for catching fish next trip?