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Old 08-18-2012, 02:49 PM   #11
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Haven't camped in centuries, but my all-time fave was fresh caught Lake of the Woods walleye fried in lots of butter.
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Old 08-18-2012, 03:38 PM   #12
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the sounds of the stream as we fish for trout. The excitement of catching your limit. the ride back to camp on your horse who wants to get home as badly as you do. Cleaning your trout, and it had to be the limit nothing else would do. Then you would hear the sound of the match as daddy started the fire. sliced potatoes, cut as thin as possible, careful for your fingers. Some cut up onions in the skillet along with some oil and butter, then potatoes, take a deep breath oh how good it smells. Now get you big ci skillet ready with oil and butter and carefully put in the trout that you've lightly dusted in flour. Golden brown ahhh I think everything is about ready. Let's see we have fried potatoes and onions, sliced tomatoes we brought from the garden at home, lightly golden trout, now give them a squeeze of lemon, ahhh so good, Is anyone watching as I sneak a bite of the fish? Buttered toast, a peach cobbler for afterwards, and corn browned in a pan with butter. Ahhh life is good the coffee on the fire has a much deepr risher smell than at home. Yes I'll have some... Another trout please I'm full now and let's sit here and relax a moment before we do dishes This is the life. Time for another cuppa and a sweater. Night folks. We need to catch some more rainbows for breakfast.
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Old 08-18-2012, 04:19 PM   #13
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Originally Posted by kadesma
the sounds of the stream as we fish for trout. The excitement of catching your limit. the ride back to camp on your horse who wants to get home as badly as you do. Cleaning your trout, and it had to be the limit nothing else would do. Then you would hear the sound of the match as daddy started the fire. sliced potatoes, cut as thin as possible, careful for your fingers. Some cut up onions in the skillet along with some oil and butter, then potatoes, take a deep breath oh how good it smells. Now get you big ci ckillet ready with oil and butter and crefully put in the trout that you[ve lightly dusted in flour. Golden brown ahhh I think everything is about ready. Let's see we have fried potatoes and onions, sliced tomatoes we brought from the garden at home, lightly golden trout, now give them a squeeze of lemon, ahhh so good, Is anyone watching as I sneak a bite of the fish? Buttered toast, a peach cobbler for afterwards, and corn browned in a pan with butter. Ahhh life is good the coffee on the fire has a much deepr risher smell than at home. Yes I'll have some... Another trout please I'm full now and let's sit here and relax a moment before we do dishes This is the life. Time for another cuppa and a sweater. Night folks. We need to catch some more rainbows for breakfast.
kades
Ma, what a wonderful memory! I made a mind movie just reading your description!
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Old 08-18-2012, 05:04 PM   #14
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Kades, you make me wish I ten years old again, with a fishing pole in my hands, a worm can on my belt, a container of extra hooks in my pocket, and a warm summer day, walking a stream, or wading down the middle of it. My Dad would frequently scold me - "Don't walk so heavy. You're gonna scare the fish away."

Close to where the stream emptied into Lake Superior, there was a four inch pipe that rose 2 feet from the ground, with ice cold spring water that gushed from the top. I'd be all hot and sweaty. I'd wash my face by capturing handfuls of water and scrubbing it on my skin. Then, I'd just bury my face in the water and drink until I had to come up for air. We'd drive back home with our creels filled to the legal limit of Eastern Speckled Trout, Rainbows, and the occasional brown trout. The ensuing meal was trout, cooked like in Kad's memory, and home made french fries. My Dad didn't want the fries, just that wonderful fish. And it made a difference where we caught them. If we caught our fish from the Pine, or the Black, or the Clear, or even the Bisquet (it's not spelled biscuit, but my spelling is probably off. It's a Native American spelling), it was planted fish, with white flesh that was good, but not spectacular. But if we fished the Ankadosh, or the Neomakon, or the Roxbury, the fish was wild, with that pinkish-orange flesh, and amazing flavor.

Man, do I ever miss those days. I wouldn't trade my current life for them, as my DW, kids and grandkids bring me more joy than any other thing in the world could. But if I could somehow, just spend an occasional day with my dad, on one of the great streams, and fill my creel alongside him, and share it with my own family, well, that would be a bit of Heaven. I hope they have trout streams in Heaven.

Seeeeeeeya; Chief Longwind of the North
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Old 08-18-2012, 05:45 PM   #15
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I have mentioned them before, but I just love Camper Pies. I'm sure I love them because I have childhood memories of making them.

After spending quite a chunk of time running through the woods gathering firewood, we would help Dad make a campfire. Playing with fire was not allowed (unless you were an adult), but gathering wood, building the best little teepee with the small twigs, adding some pine needles, lighting the match, and blowing on the fire was NOT playing. It was a skill we all learned at a very young age. After the fire was ablaze, we would bring all our needed supplies to the picnic table to create a masterpiece. Side note here: as a child I only made desert pies, and I have grown up since then. Anyway, we would spread the butter on the bread, place it butter-side down on the iron and put pie filling in the middle. We clamped the irons shut and snacked on the crusts. Even that part was special. I don't quite understand the people who don't eat their crusts. By this time it was dark and we sat around the campfire and cooked our own little pies. Wow were they hot when they came out of the irons! And...oh so good. Blueberry are the best kind!

When my boys were little we started doing the whole meal with the pie irons. Everyone had their own iron, and we invented all kinds of little pies for dinner. Then we had the desert pies I remember from my childhood.

When we go camping with our grandchildren we follow the same routine. Everyone has fun, but not everyone has the memories I do.

Yes...my favorite meal is dinner (we called it supper growing up and still do when my dad is around). Don't forget the desert.
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Old 08-18-2012, 11:04 PM   #16
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Ma, what a wonderful memory! I made a mind movie just reading your description!
Dawg, I wish I'd said more about my daddy. He was and is my Idol, hero, the dearest man I've ever known. Ahhhh nuts, now I feel as if I might cry. My dad was so good to me, he taught me to fish, to ride an ornery horse and to try to be a good cook. I really miss him.

ma
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Old 08-18-2012, 11:11 PM   #17
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Originally Posted by Chief Longwind Of The North View Post
Kades, you make me wish I ten years old again, with a fishing pole in my hands, a worm can on my belt, a container of extra hooks in my pocket, and a warm summer day, walking a stream, or wading down the middle of it. My Dad would frequently scold me - "Don't walk so heavy. You're gonna scare the fish away."

Close to where the stream emptied into Lake Superior, there was a four inch pipe that rose 2 feet from the ground, with ice cold spring water that gushed from the top. I'd be all hot and sweaty. I'd wash my face by capturing handfuls of water and scrubbing it on my skin. Then, I'd just bury my face in the water and drink until I had to come up for air. We'd drive back home with our creels filled to the legal limit of Eastern Speckled Trout, Rainbows, and the occasional brown trout. The ensuing meal was trout, cooked like in Kad's memory, and home made french fries. My Dad didn't want the fries, just that wonderful fish. And it made a difference where we caught them. If we caught our fish from the Pine, or the Black, or the Clear, or even the Bisquet (it's not spelled biscuit, but my spelling is probably off. It's a Native American spelling), it was planted fish, with white flesh that was good, but not spectacular. But if we fished the Ankadosh, or the Neomakon, or the Roxbury, the fish was wild, with that pinkish-orange flesh, and amazing flavor.

Man, do I ever miss those days. I wouldn't trade my current life for them, as my DW, kids and grandkids bring me more joy than any other thing in the world could. But if I could somehow, just spend an occasional day with my dad, on one of the great streams, and fill my creel alongside him, and share it with my own family, well, that would be a bit of Heaven. I hope they have trout streams in Heaven.

Seeeeeeeya; Chief Longwind of the North
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I feel like that At times. My dad was who taught me to fish, not get my shadow on the stream water or the fish would look for a better hole, hpw to be still so as not to scare them more. How to clean them and He saw to it that I learned to follow the stream back to where we started fishing. He made sure I got my full limit, then it was 20 how to keep them wrapped and cool til we got home and could clean them to eat. I like you hope that one day I find that stream in heaven and that daddy is there holding out my pole, and creel to me. That is my dream.
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Old 08-19-2012, 12:18 AM   #18
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CLoftN
I feel like that At times. My dad was who taught me to fish, not get my shadow on the stream water or the fish would look for a better hole, hpw to be still so as not to scare them more. How to clean them and He saw to it that I learned to follow the stream back to where we started fishing. He made sure I got my full limit, then it was 20 how to keep them wrapped and cool til we got home and could clean them to eat. I like you hope that one day I find that stream in heaven and that daddy is there holding out my pole, and creel to me. That is my dream.
kades
It's a good dream. Maybe we'll see each other on a stream. That would be too cool.

Seeeeeya; Chief Longwind of the North
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Old 08-19-2012, 12:41 AM   #19
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Kades, Chief, Chopper, and all, I loved reading about your camping stories. We used to go camping all the time, but it's been about 10 years now since I've gone. I sure do miss it. I think the last time I went camping was in Lolo Nat'l Forest in Montana - breathtakingly beautiful.

My grandma and grandpa used to take my brother and I camping in Yosemite every summer, for many, many years. We would get up at 4AM, hit the road, and stay there for about 2 weeks. When I was about 10 my grandpa taught me how to fish. He had the patience of a saint, lol, one time we were fishing off a bridge and I dropped his fishing pole into the river. I was mortified....he just hugged me, said it was OK, gave me another pole and we continued fishing.

As far as camp meals, anything goes anytime, in my very humble opinion. Everything tastes better in the great wild. The best meals ever were fresh caught trout cooking over the campfire for breakfast. I can't imagine eating fish for breakfast now but boy, were those meals ever good back then.
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Old 08-19-2012, 01:13 AM   #20
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Kades, Chief, Chopper, and all, I loved reading about your camping stories. We used to go camping all the time, but it's been about 10 years now since I've gone. I sure do miss it. I think the last time I went camping was in Lolo Nat'l Forest in Montana - breathtakingly beautiful.

My grandma and grandpa used to take my brother and I camping in Yosemite every summer, for many, many years. We would get up at 4AM, hit the road, and stay there for about 2 weeks. When I was about 10 my grandpa taught me how to fish. He had the patience of a saint, lol, one time we were fishing off a bridge and I dropped his fishing pole into the river. I was mortified....he just hugged me, said it was OK, gave me another pole and we continued fishing.

As far as camp meals, anything goes anytime, in my very humble opinion. Everything tastes better in the great wild. The best meals ever were fresh caught trout cooking over the campfire for breakfast. I can't imagine eating fish for breakfast now but boy, were those meals ever good back then.
When I was in the Navy, I'd take my thirty days vacation all at once. We'd head North from San Diego, and travel up just past Mammoth Mountain. There was a great little fishing lake, a wild river or two, natural soda springs where carbonated water just bubbled up out of the ground, hot springs, a beautiful waterfall, and a fissure of the San Andreas fault that you could look down into. I got to see a part of Devil's Post Pile that few see, as foolishly waded a fast, ice cold river, in an attempt to catch wild trout. If I'd lost my footing, I'd have been swept over a very tall waterfalls. As it was, when I gave up and decided to go back to camp, there was a devil's post pile to my left, and mountains to my right. With wet clothing, tennis shoes, a creel around my neck, and a fishing pole in one hand. I climbed the rock to get to a trail that followed the river back to camp, albeit on the opposite side of the river. It was a good thing I was in my twenties, and that I was in very good physical condition. If I had to do that now, I wouldn't be able to. Now however, I'm smart enough not to wade the river in the first place.

If you're still in California, it's worth your time to go to Red's Meadow Campground, just past Mammoth Mountain, and down in the valley. It's a spectacular campground. Go in a camping trailer though. There are bears.


Seeeeeya; Chief Longwind of the North
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