A Relaxing Fishing Trip?

2026 February Round-up Challenge

smp4ever

The life of a cowboy isn’t easy: exhaustion, aching muscles, injuries, and pouring sweat pretty much paints an accurate picture.  

For over two weeks, Adam, Hoss, some of the hands, and I lived that daily grind.  We rounded up calves for branding and pulled out bogged cows.  With that done, we moved them to graze on the green grass of the higher pastures.  Fixing fences damaged by the winter snow and runoff, and building dams to collect water for the drier summer season were more of the unpleasant jobs that had to be done.  To say we didn’t want to see or smell another cow, fix any more fences, or eat another bean was an understatement. 

Now came the payoff for that backbreaking work.  A few of the guys were hell-bent on taking off to town so they could get liquored up and use their last bit of energy to bed with soiled doves.

Adam picked the short straw and had to stay home to keep an eye on the ranch and its running. Honestly?  I don’t think he minded at all.  In my imagination, I pictured Adam buried under a pile of books soaking up the quiet and solitude. 

Hoss was heading toward Bridgeport, California to be the best man at his friend Tucker’s wedding.  Tucker was the only man I ever met who was bigger than Hoss but, like Hoss, was a jolly and gentle soul. 

That left me.  Pa had departed from the roundup seven days ago.  He was heading to Sacramento to sign a big timber contract.  Pa figured he’d be back within the week’s time.  Our plan was to meet outside of Reno at the mouth of Dog Creek to do some trout fishing for several days.  Even at twenty-two, I still looked forward to spending time with my pa.  On similar trips, we would have some of our best discussions, not the necessary type, I mean deep, meaningful talks that helped me grow into the man I am today.

As I headed toward Dog Creek, Buck came into sight, tethered to a tree.  Looking to the right, I spotted Pa already setting up our campsite.  

“Hey, Pa!” 

“About time you got here!”

“Good to see you, too, Pa!”

“Come on, son, give me a hand!”

“We can finish setting up later.  The Thaddeus Norris fishing rod you ordered came in.  It’s a real beauty!  Come on, Pa, let’s get fishing!  I can feel them biting!”

Heading to the creek, Pa couldn’t take his eyes off his new fishing rod, admiring it like a kid on Christmas morning. 

My father and I settled ourselves among the reeds, content to share this relaxing time together. Relaxing that is until the wooden rod arched from the weight on the line.

“Pa, you got a big one! Reel it in.  Don’t lose it!  I’m hungry!”

I lunged with the net to snatch up the thrashing trout.  Losing my balance,  I mirrored the flailing fish.  Pa grabbed me and yanked me by my pants, seconds before I plunged into the flowing creek waters. The trout and I safely landed on the muddy bank with a heavy thud.  After a moment of stunned silence, laughter erupted!

Pa and I collected ourselves and prepared to hook a few more trout.

Peace and quiet returned for a brief moment.  As we got ready to cast our lines, a gravelly voice cut through the air shouting, “Cartwright, I’ve been tracking you from Sacramento!  I shoulda gotten that timber contract. You’re gonna pay for robbing me of it.”

Pa and I spun around hearing a familiar voice. We knew who it was but didn’t know exactly where Sam Jensen was. 

Emerging from behind a boulder with his gun drawn, the vindictive man said, “Now I’m gonna get that timber contract by getting rid of you. Sorry Joe. I can’t leave a witness. You and your daddy can enjoy your time together, but in the next life!” 

I knocked my father down and charged toward Jensen.  Quick footwork and zigzagging made me a tough target. Dust was kicking up all around creating a cloud of protection. 

I thrust myself forward and tackled the big man who had disturbed my fishing time with my pa. Grunts and thuds echoed in my ears. I wrestled with Sam to strip him of the gun. I’m sure all my father could see were bodies rolling and thrashing.

Then a shot rang out! 

“Joseph!” 

******

“Joseph!” I shouted again.  There was no movement, no sound.  My heart was pounding.  I scrambled up the incline to where the two men lay prone.  In one fluid motion, I booted Jensen over.  I was greeted with dead eyes staring back at me.  Immediately, I knelt down next to my son, gently turning him over.  I was rewarded by soft moans.  Blood was coming from Joe’s head where it appeared he had hit a rock during the final struggle. 

“It’s okay, son.  Your pa is here.”

“Joe’s eyes fluttered open. “Pa?  What happened?” 

“Don’t you know?” 

“I was struggling to get the gun from Jensen.  We both had a grip on it when it went off.  He shoved me hard.  I think I hit my head on a rock.  I don’t remember.”

Pa pressed his neckerchief firmly on my bloodied head, scolding me just as strongly for taking such a risk. 

“Sorry, Pa.”

I looked over to my right.  “Jensen?”

“He’s dead, son.  We’re gonna have to bring his body into Reno and fill out a report.  I’m sorry our fishing trip has to be interrupted.  Plus, I want you to see the doctor.”

“Oh, come on, Pa!  I’m fine.  I don’t need a doctor!”  

“Joe, I think you’re gonna need stitches!  Now stop whining and let’s get going!” 

On the return trip to Dog Creek the next day, I nudged my father. “Pa, is anybody else after you that you wanna tell me about?”

“Not that I know of, son.  How about you?”

“Very funny, Pa.  Let’s get back to our relaxing fishing trip.  Maybe today we can tickle the trout!”

“And finish setting up our camp!”

The end

Author’s notes:

1. Tickling the trout is an ancient technique of gently rubbing a trout’s belly to encourage it to come out so it can be grabbed by its gills. No fishing equipment needed!

2. 1864, which would have been the year, in Bonanza time, when Joe was 22, saw the great drought that caused the destruction of over a million cattle in California. Dog Creek would have dried up or run to a trickle.  Since David Dortort never addressed this issue, I ignored it, too!