The late June day was warm and humid. As evening came, the wind died down providing near perfect conditions for the Hexagenia Limbata hatch. Several members of the Chukar Harbor Ancient Order of Sportsmen (CHAOS) entered the water and fished the Manasadi River well into darkness, hoping to catch the elusive Hex.
Zane S. Yewar arrived at camp too late to be properly rested for night fishing so he decided to set up his campsite while the others fished. When the sun goes down the air chills considerably along the Manasadi, even in mid summer. Zane started a campfire at dusk and by 11:30 P.M., the group had trickled back to camp, shed their waders, and put up their rods. They soon settled in next to the fire with a cup or can of their chosen beverage.
"Didja catch anythin?" Zane slurred his words having had a considerable head start on the post-fishing libation. Despite the likely conditions for a hatch, there were only a handful of flies in the air that evening and even fewer rises. None of the CHAOS anglers had any action despite Prentice N. Largefonte’s fine riverside lecture to the trout on the virtues of practicing their rises in the darkness.
"You’d think that if Nature compels us to stand in a cold river and cast our flies into the inky blackness of a new moon, that she would require the trout to show the same dedication to their end of the sport." Largefonte mused to no one in particular. He fixed a Manhattan and sank into his camp chair. He sipped his drink, closed his eyes, and stretched his legs out as he enjoyed the warmth of the fire.
"I had three solid pauses," said Abel Andretti. "Broke all three off when I set the hook. It must be that cheap imported tippet material I bought the other day."
"I saw where you were standing," Flint Locke replied. "You can probably go back in the morning and pick your flies off that stump." Andetti ignored Locke’s quip and took a gentle sip of his Old Bold Mold Scotch. Maybe he would check out that stump tomorrow, he thought to himself.
"Did you have any trouble setting up camp, Zane?" Locke asked Yewar, noting the younger man’s state of early insobriety.
"Nope!" Yewar uttered as he popped the top on another can of beer. "My gear ‘s always drunk-proof. It’s a technique I learned from watching you guys over the years."
"I don’t recall ever discussing how to drunk-proof a camp." Locke responded.
"You didn’t, but watching the members of this fine outfit has taught me plenty." Yewar said waving his left arm as if including everyone.
"Like what?" Prentice opened one eye and peered at Zane. He was half curious and half fearful of what he may have passed along to the young man.
"Well, for starters, you should load your booze into the car first. Then, all your other camping gear is stowed on top of the booze. That way, when you’re unpacking, the tendency will be to set up camp before drinking." Yewar said.
"A fine and thoughtful observation." Nodded Locke. "Go on."
"Special attention is required to only purchase camping gear that you can assemble and break down when you’re in the dark or your vision is blurred beyond all recognition." Yewar stated.
"Such finely honed skills do, of course, require considerable testing under a variety of lighting and weather conditions." Andretti observed.
"That’s true." Locke agreed. "Why, I had to consume several cases of beer, over several camping trips just to learn how to operate my lantern."
"It was several years before I realized I wasn’t setting up two tents at a time." Tom Morrow chimed in.
"There is one thing you left out if you’re drunk-proofing your camp." Largefonte said as he closed his eye, leaned back, and slowly sipped his Manhattan.
"What’s that?" asked Yewar.
"Don’t invite him in the first place."
Royal Dun
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