Round 2, Day 2 28Jun06

Did I mention how pleasant and quiet the Lone Rock CG was? Here is an example of the local activity - directly across the S. Platte from my campsite!

So my wake up came about 0630 today, and after some oatmeal and one cup coffee (a coffee bag, like a tea-bag to dunk into hot water, I strolled over to my new best friends, Gary, Will, and Russ, where were camping in USAF recreation department rental tents. Which were huge. I couldn't figure out, with the size of the tent, why Gary was sleeping outside, until I heard Will snoring away inside. Oooh. Muy Pronto, however, all were up and breakfast burrito's on the Coleman. Again, nothing would do but that I share. Muchas Gracias, Amigos! We packed up and headed up stream to Cheesman Reservoir, which would be a short hike of about a mile from the parkinglot to the stream. They in the truck, I on the bike.
It was beautiful, made even more so by the juxtaposition with burned trees of the great fire of '02. We were at the bottom stretch, just above Wigwam Camp (members include Tiger Woods, Dick Cheney, etc. - rumor has it that when the guests complained they couldn't see the trout to sight fish to, special albino trout were brought in and seeded). The day was overcast with heavy bellies rolling by more than occasionally. We all strung up quick like and were in the water. I netted one pretty much straight away, and then was skunked the remainder of the morning. As I recall everyone caught at least one, Gary, the could-be-guide, taking several, but suspeciously always out of sight...
At one point the clouds must've bumped against the mountains, as we heard some heavy peals of thunder and the rain begain to tickle. As we were all already half covered in waders we decided it didn't much matter, other than the lighting/thunder.
Early in the afternoon we called it quits on this part of the stream, and while the boys pressed on elsewhere, I went back to camp, stopping first at the Deckers Liquor store for my daily ration of local brew, which I chilled in the river while unwinding and preparing a meal of rice and tuna.
Suddenly, roaring down the road through camp came three vans and a panel truck carrying church youth on a mission trip to help nature recover from the fires. They were going to camp out for 3 days and work in the area. First thing they did was establish two dozen tents along the riverbank, indiscriminate of campsite markings. Second thing they did was to ATTACK the river; plowing and jumping into it, splashing it, running though it. All the while screaming shrilly in that pre/early teen frequency that drives dogs to howl at the moon in the middle of the day.
Though the trail to/from the choice views of the river was obvious and circumvented my campsite, numbers of these little hellions would cut through my site, even between my chair (where I sat quietly reading or writing) and my tent enroute to the next stone throwing shreaking contest. At some point a small group in the river found my remaining bottle of beer and held it up with great glee. I quietly and politely notified them that it was mine and I'd appreciate their leaving it where and as they found it.
15 minutes later I went down and found it broken in the river bottom. I cleaned up all the glass, while glaring at the nearest group. I don't know if it was carelessness, an accident, or good Baptist training, but in any event I was livid that they would leave broken glass in the stream. Heck, I wore shoes - they were barefoot!
Finally after a feast and music that went on well past quiet hours they retired to their tents, and I to mine. It was quite a different campsite from the one the fishermen left that morning!