Early October of this year featured a five-day trip to Rock Creek, about 25 miles north of Bishop on 395. This celebrated a Riter centennial: Dad first traveled up here on a washboard dirt road in 1925, and he got me hooked on Sierra fishing, camping, and Fords. On the second day, my sis now living in Kentucky called, and the topic of trout came up. She declared she didn’t care for them, too many bones. Being trained in debate, and knowing the tastiness of trout, I used an old line, “Life is like eating fish: pick out and discard the bones, and enjoy the meat.”

She didn’t buy that, but…