The Mountain Vacation

My family and I have always loved are camping trips, especially the

ones the take us deep into the depths of the Sierra Nevada mountians.

There's a very unique and beautiful camp ground near Mammoth Lakes called

Devils Postpile. My is it beautiful, two gigantic crystal clear lakes,

wildlife sites that could easily be posted in any National Geographic

magazine, and trout that have enough meat on their bones to suvive in the

deepest of any ocean. One little problem I always have had was that my

father was a better and more experienced fisherman than I was resulting in

that he would always catch the bigger and more beautiful fish and almost

certainly come home with twice as many fish as I had caught.

This was it, are summer vacation, finally it was time to get out of

the intense heat and bordom of 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 found ourselves the trail that lead to the postpile, twisting

and turning along the green, damp trial until we came upon a sight that

every human being should lay their eyes on, Devils Postpile. Enormous

rocks all rubbing against one another scalling the sky. Jumping my way

close to the river, as I drifted away from everyone else, knowing I was

going to catch the mother of all fish in this sacred river. Competing with

my father and brother, I definitely

was'nt going to let them outdo this

modern day Tom Sawyer. I hicked along river for a while, wiping the sweat

off my face every other minute, only to find nothing but sheer cliffs and

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

stumbling along. Soon I spotted what was going to be my home for the next

hour or so, an old dead tree 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