I spent most of the weekend camping on the river, my first such trip this year. Camping is something I always wonder why I don't do more. It just doesn't seem to happen as often as I would like.

I enjoyed the mostly spectacular weather over this past weekend, despite a couple of passing showers and an absolutely cloudy and muggy day Friday.

At the campsite there was a large poplar tree, which shaded most of the area and even part of the river and even warded off the rain showers like a giant umbrella. Needless to say, the chairs and the fire were located directly underneath it.

Like any camping trip, it started off at home trying to find the camping supplies that have been discarded here and there since they were last put to use. Adding to the fun, I have moved into a new house since I last went camping. The tent was in the bedroom closet with one sleeping bag, while the other two bags were in the hall closet. One chair was lost, the other hanging on the wall in the utility room and my little camping table was stuffed under my sawhorses. Fishing equipment was in the pickup truck and the laundry room. The propane lantern was buried in a box in the storage area, along with several other things that I needed and couldn't find. My cooler was in use as a seed storage unit.

Soon the vehicle was brimming full of everything I could think of except for food, drinks and ice. I shoved the guitar on top of all of it and ended up with a fishing rod slapping me in the side of the head. Just then my friend called. "Go by my house and get my metal tiki torches." They ended up hanging over the other side of my head. When I arrived at the river Friday evening, I didn't have to unpack. I just opened the hatch and everything fell out on the ground.

The tent I was using was a brand new one, which was actually two tents that could be attached to one another. I opened the bag and noticed that there was a camping checklist inside. I suppose it was there to help me remember all the things I should have brought along.

After only a few minutes of looking over the multitude of pieces, I called on my friends to help out. Once I saw how it worked, I can say that a dome tent is the best kind. I used to have one of those ones with color-coded stickers on aluminum poles. Then the stickers wore off.

I ended up staying up late that first night, playing my guitar while fishing and watching the campfire. Just for kicks, I threw out a line or two. I had a bell on the pole, but I couldn't hear it ring over my rousing rendition of "Froggy Went a Courting." After two or three songs, I noticed a few folks passing around aspirin.

Afterwards, I went to the tent for a nice restful sleep atop a rock pile, a stump and what felt like both halves of a broken bottle. I ended up trying to utilize a sleeping bag with a broken zipper for the night, which somehow managed to be neither over me nor under me. I woke up with an imprint of the woven floor on my face, a stiff back and a crick in my neck. At least everyone else did a better job at bringing the necessities, like coffee and creamer.

After three cups of coffee, we hauled in more firewood, rode to town for food, took a quick shower and returned to camp.

Later in the day I took a nice long wade up the side of the river, wearing only sandals and shorts. It was my first time in the water this year without waders and it felt wonderful. Everything was good except for the small rocks constantly finding their way into the sandals, but I coped by hopping on one foot while trying to get the rocks out. I feel sure it looked like a native American fish dance, albeit an ineffective one. I usually wear wading shoes, but I forgot to bring an old pair.

Fishing in the river after spending most of the spring in a trout stream always makes me feel really small. The water was deeper, moving faster and more open to the sunshine than I am used to. I ended up emphasizing my farmer tan, but managed to avoid being burned, mainly because I put on my big straw hat.

After fishing a good ways without so much as a bite, I opted to turn around and head back to the campsite. I finally snagged a good sized horny head about halfway back. He was hiding under an old tree. One of the other fellows fishing with us caught three bass fishing out of his boat. Two of them were pretty small, but the other one, about 13 inches long, looked much better. It looked even better compared to the skinny horny head that I tossed back into the water.

By Saturday night, I wouldn't have minded sleeping on a rock. The way things worked out, I found myself back in my recliner.

I went back to the river the next morning to load up and say goodbye. It turned into a wonderful trip, one worth doing over. However, next time, I'm taking an air mattress. Sleeping on rocks is much harder on me than it used to be.

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