Essay About Long Hours And Old Dead Tree

The Mountain Vacation
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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.
Theres 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 couldnt 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
wasnt 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
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 tens 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