Lulu Lunacy

Gee. I sure wish we could see our oh-so-wonderful mountains with the multitude of colors and brilliant leaves all over them...but nooooo, thanks to the smoke from some bloody damned fire and this (brilliant idea, Brigham, ya stoopid TWAT!) godforsaken valley cramming inversions and FIRE SMOKE down on top of us FOR THE LAST WEEK SOLID and murking up the now muted and mired mountains, we can see no such Wonders of Nature. We can see mountainous shapes hazed over in smoggy gray. Woo. Let me contain my excitement. Oh, but you've seen it dozens of times before, you say? MAYBE I NEVER WANTED TO LOOK AT THEM THEN? YA SMARTASSED BASTAGE! MAYBE BECAUSE HOPEFULLY THIS WILL BE MY LAST FALL HERE IN ZION CRAPLAND I WANTED TO SEE THEM WHEN THE TREES WERE ALL RED AND ORANGE! Suck it easy.

Going through the two large tackle boxes of my Dad's that Mom let us bring back to Utah along with a few of his poles. Cajun and I are divvying up the stuff before she moves to North Dakota in a few days (she'll be doing much more fishing than I so she's getting the bulk of it) and I run into two old containers with the old lures still in them...they're what he used while I was very young during our many, many camping and fishing trips we took as a family. I kept catching myself grinning at rusty old lures and hooks and broken, taped up little lure organizers. I'll put pictures up when I can transfer them (phone's off for a while). I kept drifting off thinking of manning my usual little black fishing pole, sitting beside the gently lapping water of various lakes here in Northern Utah, Smith Morehouse, Mirror Lake, Pineview Reservoir. And watching the sparkling, sometimes blinding fast little lures gliding expertly through the water at the end of my dad...