A few weeks ago I was talking to my dad about a friend of his who does a lot of big game

hunting out west.

I was telling my dad that I was hoping to talk to his friend about whether or not he had

ever seen a bigfoot while he was out there.

Well, that was when dad said, well, don't you remember the fishing trip we took with

him at Boy Scout Lake in Poplarville with Uncle Ronnie and Jared?

It earned you a Class A whooping.

Well, I'd forgotten about that.

I don't know how I could have forgotten about that.

I wasn't quite a teenager yet when my uncle invited us to come fishing with him and

my cousin to the lake near Poplarville, Mississippi.

My uncle was head of the Boy Scouts in Louisiana at the time, so he had full access to the private

lake.

When it made the long drive seem longer, I hadn't slept much the night before, so I should

have been using that time to catch up on some shut-eye.

But with visions of fish in that lake and the time we'd spin out on it dancing in my head,

that wasn't going to happen.

Even after we got there, I was a fidgeting mess until we finally got out on the water.

It was a good day of fishing for us.

We stayed out until dark and then we tied up to the pier near a little cabin where we were

staying.

And then we got some good hot supper.

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