Beautiful Fish example essay topic

SIERRA My family and I have always loved are camping trips, especially the ones the take us deep into the depths of the Sierra Nevada mount ians. There's 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 survive 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 boredom 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 could " nt 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's calling 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 definetly was " nt going to let them outdo this modern day Tom Sawyer. I hacked along river for a while, wiping the sweat off my face every other minute, only t 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 obstacle 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 next 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 ten's of thousands of starving fish. I then baited up my hook with a slim my 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 grooming minutes of this nonsense, I decided to put on the numero uno bait of them all the Panther Martin. Probably the best known lure to man. I casted it out far into the depths of the raging river and before I could say "bite" I had struck gold.

That fish was fighting and pulling at my pole like Mike Tyson. I thought for sure that I was going to bring up a fish worth the price of gold. After a long hard fight I finally reeled my prize in to the base of the old dead tree, and to my disappointment it was a whole five inches SMALL. "Unbelievable" I yelled out, throwing my tired arms in the air. These were " nt your everyday trout I was going for either though, they were the sacred Brown Trout, naturals is you wish to call them. He sure was a beautiful fish though, with his dark brown back and his light brown belly, with all those red and orange spots covering his petite body.

So I let the little guppy swim freely, and continued down the no whatsoever trail, bumping into rocks and slamming into trees, hoping to find his big brother. Well I never found that big, bold and beautiful fish I was looking for, but I certainly got my fair share for the day. Finding my way through the dense forest I stumbled upon my campground where I was the first of the fisherman back. Showing my prize trophies to my mom, just hoping that I was the luckiest on this fine day, but sure enough my dad came back soaking wet, with his mud drenched clothes, holding a stringer much nicer than the one I was previously showing off. We had many more great days and night in the camp ground and on that river before we headed back down south to the beloved heat of the desert. Every minute closer to Ridgecrest ws also every minute closer to next years camp trip to the Sierra Nevada's.

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