In November’s Meatpaper: Issue 19, you’ll find this essay, a short piece inspired by a trip I took with my dear friend, Linda.
Early Californians lusted after gold, traveling up and over the chiseled granite Sierra Nevada on their way to the Gold Country. Two summers ago, a dear friend and I had high prospects of climbing Mt. Whitney, repeating the trek we had previously taken over thirty years ago. We hove up and over the majestic peak before returning to our encampment at the base of the mountain. Slithering through the camp was a stream teaming with California’s native freshwater fish, the Golden Trout. After a few brief, but apparently effective demonstrations of fly-fishing technique by the camp cook, I flicked my fly rod over the water’s surface and returned to camp beaming with three glistening Golden Trout. Nothing – really nothing – delivers a rush like that of freshly caught Golden Trout cooked over a campfire. Those early California gold seekers held their pans in anticipation of a few flakes of gold; I held my pan satiated with my three nuggets of golden treasures.
As published in Meatpaper, Issue 19, Fall 2012
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