I think everyone has that place, that when they where very small, was always a question on their lips. Each weekend or free day they would go, pleading and puppy dog eyed to their parents with a request to visit that place. For me that place is a smallish creek off of a big river that runs through beautiful pristine rainforest.
Me and my dad would go there and camp where the Q2000 road crossed it. We would camp under the bridge and walk up and down it each evening and morning with light spinning rods in hand and a pocket full of mepps spinners. Back then my dad was an alcoholic of the worst kind, but on camping trips like these he always stayed sober. His love and concern for my well being obviously won out over the booze, and that fact was something I unconsciously clung too in those days. It planted a deep love for camping and cutthroat trout in me, and that love lingers today.
