There was a time when the members of the Neverwas Nonesuch Angling Society did their cooking over open fires. Trout were spitted on forked branches or fried to a crisp in heavy cast iron pans and, when there were no fish (due to no fault of their own, of course), they cooked beans right in the can. Clean-up was easy; throw the pan in the fire until most of the crud had burned off, scrape it out with a stick, rub it down with a little oil and salt and put it away until next time. After a meal of beans, one simply licked off one’s spoon, wiped it on one’s trousers and threw the can into the woods. It was a smoky, dirty, manly way of doing things.
Times change, though, and so did conditions here at Fish in a Barrel Pond. Sleeping under the stars or in leaky canvas tents began to lose their allure and permanent camps were erected — wooden cabins, each holding six bunks and a wood stove but not much more. Each cabin had an attached lean-to which served as at least a dry place to stand and chop onions while smoky fires sulked in the rain, but some members of the Neverwas Nonesuch Angling Society became too sophisticated for even these luxuries. A group of them began lobbying for actual indoor kitchens to be built, with wood stoves for cooking and sinks with running water, but other members urged caution in the face of these modern encroachments.
“What’s next, toilets?” they asked, “Why, before long we’ll have showers! Women and children are sure to follow!” Continue reading
The View from Fish in a Barrel Pond 