Friday, September 26, 2008


Meeting at the gas pumps was the usual rendezvous point. As he pulled into line at the pumps his cell phone chimed. An incoming text message said “five minutes out.” He answered, “pumps now”. As he pumped gasoline into the motorhome for the short trip over to lake Greeson, he looked up to see his friend and his wife pull into the pumps. They were in two vehicles, each pulling a tow load, as were him and his wife. The four vehicles quickly fueled and fell into traveling formation as they entered into the highway.They were off to the lake. Nine glorious days of jug fishing at lake Greeson, a sort of mountaineer’s Spring Break. Though it was late in the day they were not worried that there might not be a parking space for them at the lake. It was early and the water was still way too cool for most of the water sports enthusiasts.This was the time of the year that the “fishing crowd” ruled the lake. They would be seeing old friends that they hadn’t seen since fishing season of last year.The routine of the convoy settled in as the miles fell steadily by. The crackle of the small hand held FRS radios occasionally filled the air. “Tires look ok ?” “Yeh, my lights working alright ?’ “You think we should turn South at Langley ? Or maybe go through Kirby ?” With most of the routine traveling chatter out of the way, the ladies began to chit chat about campsites and other parking arrangements that would make the extended stay more comfortable for all. Their favorite campsites were sometimes hard to get because of their popularity. Springtime fishermen seemed to prefer them mostly because of Springtime storms that would pass rapidly through the area. Their favorite campsites were right at the waters edge, with a deep narrow inlet that ran nearly North to South. The shoreline of the inlet was sandy soil that was easy on the boats and didn’t track into boats or campers as bad as at other locations. That particular inlet had a slight angle to it that kept boat traffic traveling down the lake from rolling a wake up into the tied up boats.Springtime storms are often fast traveling and sometimes powerful. The inlet that they preferred was protected from the usual direction of those storms. It would cause a flurry of activity around the campground when a storm approached. Picnic tables would be quickly cleared off, camper awnings rolled up, screen tent tie downs checked, and so on and so forth. Nearly every person in camp pitched in and in a very few minutes camp was secured for the approaching weather. It was their parctice to monitor the weather radio as well as the marine radio hailing channel.His cell phone chimed, drawing his attention away from the ladies campsite conversation. The message read “they are open !” A friend that had been able to leave for the lake a day earlier had sent a text message telling them that their favorite campsites were available. Quickly he responded, ” K tnx”, a short acronym for, “ok, thanks”. When he passed the good news on to the convoy friends via the FRS radio, there was a short cheer.Minutes later they were turning off of the highway onto the narrow road that went to the lake. As he began to figure out that they were approaching a familiar place, Dillon the retired drug dog became more animated and vocal. As they pulled into their favorite campsites and the motorhome door opened, Dillon bolted outside. Looking quickly from side to side Dillon seemed to be assessing the situation as he stalked a pin Oak tree to mark his territory. Seeming to pass his approval on the campsite selection, Dillon laid down under the picnic table to watch as the camp was assembled.

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