Switch to Worms: Part I

Since I was about nine, I’ve been going with all of the males on my Dad’s side of the family on the annual Opening Day Fishing Trip.  Last year saw the end of an era with the closure of our traditional destination.  This year, the older generation sought to kill it completely.

The ritual itself is actually more like 65 years old.  I’m not sure if it’s always been the way that I’ve known it – I would have to assume not.  The men of the Costanzo, Galante, and Bellomo all get together, at least just this once, every year.  The last Saturday in April holds Opening Day for Trout Season.  Our journey begins on that Friday.

Aunt Peno prepares an enormous breakfast to keep us satiated during our five hour car ride to the Eastern Sierras.  For whatever reason, and much to our detriment, we Bellomos usually fail to attend in time.  From there the trip continues up the 5, to the 14, and finally the 395, our vehicles slipping in-and-out of caravan mode at various points throughout.  There’s typically at least one stop before reaching Bishop, whether it be for a bite to eat in Mojave or a bathroom break at a rest stop between Independence and Big Pine.  There are a few essential stops upon reaching Bishop though…

The first is Culver’s Sporting Goods, where we re-stock supplies and buy our fishing licenses, typically a Two-Day’er – only a few of us are actually avid fishermen.  Next stop is Schat’s Bakkery – not unknown to many Mammoth bound travelers.  Stocked with pull-away and “Chili-Cheeze” breads, we make our final stop at Mahogany Smoked Meats to buy our supply of jerky.  I highly recommend “Western”-style Buffalo.  Then it’s straight on through to Alpers’ Owens River Ranch…

Or at least it was until last year.  In December 2007, Tim Alpers sold his ranch to John Gottwald, who had also purchased the neighboring Arcularius Ranch.  It was no longer open to the public – reserved for “private use.”  This immediately sent our plans into disarray.  The trip was off for 2008. 

Around March, I discovered that the troops had been rallied and our tradition would carry-on.  We’d make our base at a condo in Mammoth (which is kind of ironic), and drive in to fish the Owens.  By this point, though, I’d made other plans, and for the first time in 15 years, I missed the fishing trip.  Somebody missing a year wasn’t unheard of – many of us had missed a year here or there.  But this was the first time I wasn’t going, and it was kind of a big deal for me.

While I hear it was fun, 2008 was evidently not the same.  The condo lacked the charisma of the cabin that had kept us returning year after year.  Our fathers had ended their love affair with the process a few years earlier, and it appears that without the traditional grounds, they finally had enough to rationalize its cancellation. 

2009 was officially canceled.  They told us that the economy was too poor; that we’d just reschedule for June – as if skies would be brighter then.  This trip is what grants the sanity and relief that allow you to deal with the woes of the real world for the rest of the year!

We rebelled.