Something's Fishy

Best vacation ever. Big Stick I chomp and chase into the lake and carry into the cabins (until Mom makes me take it outside) and Big Man who carries doggie treats in his pocket and gives them to me. Spent the whole week jumping off the dock with my cousin Elizabeth (picked up doggie paddle technique pointers) and swimming in the lake. Gramma's cabin smells like barbecue chicken or cookie dough or blueberry buckle. But nothing beats the dead fish.

Tetherball distracted Mom and Dad. I stayed in the shallow water until smelling something…sniff, sniff…dead bird?…no, it's better…poo?…no, better than poo…dead fish!

Simply nosing the dead fish is only fun for so long, and then it's time to roll around in it, covering my coat in it's sweet, sweet smell. This must be the Dead Sea spa treatment Mom talks about?

Now it's dark, and time to go inside, back to Gramma's cabin—maybe I'll get one of Auntie Suz's oreo cookie brownies? Or maybe not. Mom and Dad are holding their noses and making gaging noises. Dad drags me outside and starts bathing me, but not with the hot shower water I like. This water's cold, and the shampoo smells like orange cream. Dad hoses me off and I catch a few words like "she's your dog," and "sleeping in the truck tonight," and "disgusting animal." I don't know who they are talking about, but I feel bad for that poor pooch! They seem grumpy tonight as they go to bed, but before too long the soothing scent of creamsicle fish guts lulls everyone to sleep. Today was a good day.

—Ophie Jane

My Big Bass

This is the 1.5 pound bass I caught. We posed for pictures and Ophie licked him (tried to chomp), then we released him back into the lake so someone can catch him again next summer after he puts on a few more pounds.

—Jessica

Fishing and Art 101

Some people do make a living selling chocolate, cranberry ketchup, salalberry jam, organic coffee and mixed-media sea anemones.

We are jealous. And also tired (probably smelly, too). But the people at Art 101 in Bandon, Ore., are friendly, the coffee and brownies are tasty, the jam makes our peanut butter sandwiches seem gourmet, and grumpiness disappears when standing inside a "Bioluminescent Sea Cave," which inspires fish faces and maybe some Little Mermaid reenactments. Then we're back on the 101, heading north to Westlake Resort.

My family has spent a summer week on Siltcoos Lake since I was 2, and some of my favorite memories live here: learning to water ski, playing late-night Poker games on the dock and hide and seek between the cabins, battling canoes, performing original skits for the parents.

Sitting in the boat during the first run around the lake, wind blowing our faces and sun reflecting off the water, watching ospreys and blue herons fly overhead feels like home.

We fish with my dad, who has been saving lures from tree trunks and docks for two generations of Lyons' kids, and Elizabeth, who begins asking how much longer we'll be out on the lake about 15 minutes into the trip. We tell her stories about her mom and Uncle Nate catching huge bass in the middle of the lake, but can't quite convince

her to cast away from the shore line.

No one catches anything this trip, but later in the week, I catch a 1.5 pound, large-mouth bass. We're heading towards the mouth of the Siltcoos River and a salamander surfaces to breathe before diving back down into the dark water. Oooh, a salamandar! Momentarily
distracted from casting and reeling..then—bam! Bass hits my lure! I try to remember to breathe and reel while keeping the tip of my pole up and yelling for someone to get the net. Then I pose with my fish with a big, toothy smile that looks like it's 30 years ago, but the fish and the girl are bigger.

Après-fishing we go back to Mom and Dad's cabin. Everyone sits around the front room and dining table, talking drinking wine, eating brownies, reading celebrity gossip magazine and trying to pull Dad away from Facebook in order to place a highly competitive board game like Catch Phrase or Cranium. Like my sister Suzanne says, "We take our boardgames very seriously." It's not how you play the game, it's winning that's the goal, and for that, you want Suzer on your team.

—Jessica

Test Drive

Trying out the truck, the tent and our navigational/improvisational skills on our way to Siltcoos Lake, Ore.—before we spend the next four months roadtripping.

Lesson One: The tent does not exist to comfort the dog.

We drive Highway 101, along the coast from Santa Cruz to the Smith River, the only last-free flowing river in California, and camp in Jedediah Smith Redwoods State Park, at a site next to the river. Ophie finds her doggie paddle, we cook carne asada over an open fire, and see bright stars that don't have to compete with any city lights. We fall asleep listening to the river flow. Ophie sleeps at our feet...until she doesn't. She crawls under my sleeping bag; my knees bend over body. She crawls between me and the tent, and continually stands up, looks over at Patrick and sighs. Finally, she steps over me, collapses

between our two sleeping bags, and stretches her legs into my neck and tailbone. I can't move, pushed between the dog and side of the tent. At one point, I try to roll over. I don't make it, but I manage to move my neck enough to see Patrick and Ophie, happily, comfortably spooning, while I'm immobile. They sleep soundly. I think it's time for the dog to sleep outside the tent.

—Jessica