Why am I still thinking about those sausages? I mean, the catfish tale sang songs of rivers traveled, time experienced, the lobster that got away. In the early 70’s we used to camp in the Arizona mountains. We had a great spot along a firebreak road, across an arroyo and under a cliff. It included an active stream and a few deep pools. One Fourth of July I heard the sound of one truck moving in the distance. I told Jim it was getting too crowded and that was the last time we could camp there. That evening as I was fishing for our catfish dinner, I saw Him. I had seen him before. Several times. He was huge. His whiskers were awe inspiring. We had been known to have one sided conversations. I swear, that evening as I pulled his 4 pound brethren out of the pool, he flicked his tail at me, saying goodbye as he slowly disappeared into the depths. But I am still thinking about that sausage.
Why am I still thinking about those sausages? I mean, the catfish tale sang songs of rivers traveled, time experienced, the lobster that got away. In the early 70’s we used to camp in the Arizona mountains. We had a great spot along a firebreak road, across an arroyo and under a cliff. It included an active stream and a few deep pools. One Fourth of July I heard the sound of one truck moving in the distance. I told Jim it was getting too crowded and that was the last time we could camp there. That evening as I was fishing for our catfish dinner, I saw Him. I had seen him before. Several times. He was huge. His whiskers were awe inspiring. We had been known to have one sided conversations. I swear, that evening as I pulled his 4 pound brethren out of the pool, he flicked his tail at me, saying goodbye as he slowly disappeared into the depths. But I am still thinking about that sausage.
I loved this! What a beautiful story!!!! I love imagining you & Jim camping and catching catfish ✨
What an adventure!