Brian Murry fishing trip

 

Brian always planned extravagant fishing trips. At least in the dream, he had this reputation. In real life it was his brother, Eric, who had been the one to do this. But in my dream I was invited to an overnight trip to a very messy lodge he was renting in Tahoe, or somewhere similar, that had world class fishing that could be done right from the apartment. 

The apartments were nestled along some winding channels of water that fed into the lake in a canal-like configuration. They were very narrow and shallow at some points, but all the fish had to travel through them to get to and from the lake, from wherever it was that fish commuted, in the course of their day jobs. 

I was sleeping in my dream but was awakened by the sound of one of Brian's friends, who was also along on the trip, getting up early to get the jump on both of us for the early fishing. I started fumbling around for something to eat as the other guy got his food and got underway and out the door. 

Brian woke up and was incensed that the two of us had gotten up before him and had begun the day's activities without him. He began making plans to go fishing without me in retaliation. He grabbed a half gallon of chocolate marble fudgecake ice cream and began to chow down. 

I went to use the bathroom and when I returned he was nowhere in sight. The half-gallon of ice cream cake sat unattended on the banister near the stairs. I picked up the lid and began to eat some frosting. It was really good, so I grabbed the rest of the half gallon and went to town on it with the spoon which was already conveniently left sticking out of it. 

Brian showed up and asked if I wanted to try a transdermal oticular THC vape. All the kids were doing it. Before I could protest too much he inserted what looked like a hot glue gun in my ear and pulled the trigger. The element heated up the oil inside the gun and delivered a dose of THC directly to my brain via the ear canal. 

I told him to hold off a bit, as I wasn't used to that method of delivery. I was already seeing fractals. The feeling was a pleasant one, though, and I laughed, partly because I was instantly high and partly because the gun tickled when it delivered the vape smoke into my ear. We discussed a half of a red onion that we would share for the meal after we'd caught the fish. 

He chopped it in half and said, "For you and me, later." 

I agreed, that would be great, and we proceeded to discuss fishing tactics. I was fond of my rubber worm and planned to do a little jigging. The fish always responded to that method of antagonism, more out of anger and jealousy than hunger, I told him. They didn't like that little intruder moving around so freely and capably in their waters. 

Earlier I had been scouting out the locale and discovered the fish commute route which passed directly by our apartment. I'd climbed some granite bluffs which were about ten feet tall and were part of the landscape upon which the lodges were built. The handholds were easy enough to navigate, and you could get a good view of the fish traffic in the clear, shallow water. 

There were a few restrictions as to which stretches of the canals were open to fishing and which were not, but I didn't see any reason why one couldn't sneak a pole out of an open window or off a balcony. 

That was about it for my recollection. As usual, out of sequence and without a firm plot. Just an interesting setting and dynamic with my friend. He was his usual over the top self. I remember asking the other guy who he'd invited how much he reckoned Brian spent on these fishing trips. I estimated it was in the hundreds, perhaps a thousand, on all the accommodations, food and goodies like the THC vape. The other fellow agreed it had to be a fortune. 

I felt bad that we'd gotten the jump on him by rising early and scoping out the fishing without him, but he'd made up for it by getting me "ear wasted" right off the bat, so the score was settled on that account. Now all we had to do was come up with some fish to go along with the red onion.