The camping trip doesn’t seem that long ago, but time passes so quickly, sliding smoothly by unnoticed until, unbelievably, you look back and wonder where the years have gone.

That May was almost as wet and miserable as this spring. Memorial Day was forecast to be unseasonably cool, windy and rainy. I remember this so clearly because we spent the holiday at Willow Bay sleeping in our tent. Fortunately, Jane and I were experienced with this area’s weather and accustomed to the requirements necessary to remain warm in those conditions. If Mother Nature was determined to be difficult, we’d better be prepared.

Therefore, we packed long johns, winter coats, rain gear, warm headgear, stocking caps to sleep in, heavy socks, rubber boots and multiple pairs of warm gloves. We also made sure we included a quart of kerosene to help entice damp wood to burn, treating the weekend as if we were winter camping. How wise that was. When the other campers arrived, they seemed amused at first at how warmly we were dressed and the amount of heavy clothing we’d brought.

“You guys look like you’re going deer hunting!” a friend remarked with a grin.

However, after the initial, warming flurry of activity setting up camp was finished and chairs were set around the firepit the wind, damp and 50-degree temperature quickly sucked the heat from their bodies. Damp sneakers chilled their feet, cold hands were shoved into pockets and the inadequacy of the sweatshirt or hoody they’d brought to keep warm became painfully obvious. Unfortunately, this was only Friday evening and the weather was forecast to worsen.

Arriving early had allowed us to pick a raised area to set our tent on and we dug a shallow trench around the edges to drain any possible rain away from the tent floor. Two of our friends had just finished pitching their tent in a cleared area that at first glance appeared perfect. When informed it was in a shallow, hardly noticeable depression and they should move it with rain forecast. They looked at each other, reluctant to begin all over and began moving their gear inside.

Jane gave me a significant look and I shrugged my shoulders. Well, we’d tried, maybe the rain would hold off.

Soon we had a nice fire roaring and the blaze warmed all around it. The wind had dropped to nothing and we toasted hotdogs and then s’mores. A few drinks and all were happy.

Around midnight we drifted off to bed. Jane and I wore long johns, fleece vests, warm socks and thick stocking caps. Our sleeping bags zipped together and we snuggled up warm and toasty on top of our new air mattress, which for once didn’t leak. We’d asked around and some serious camping friends had highly recommended our mattress brand. It always pays to buy a higher-quality product when you’re sleeping over sticks, rocks, lumps and roots. We slept very well.

The next morning we arose and cooked bacon and eggs on a propane stove. Everyone looked a bit chilled except Jane and me. As the temperature dropped, we divided out our extra clothing. Two fleece vests, two fleece jackets with hoods we carried in the car at all times and two extra sweatshirts we’d thrown in for no other reason than they were handy when we were packing and might have worn when sleeping.

All were gratefully accepted.

The reservoir was high, 3 feet above the normal waterline, and well into the grass and bushes along the shore. We launched the canoe and began casting the shoreline. Both of us were using our favorite lure, a F-11 black and silver Rapala with a thin wire leader, which doesn’t kill the lure’s action. Unfortunately, I can’t find these leaders anymore, which is a shame when there’s pike and muskies around just waiting to cut your expensive lure off with their sharp teeth.

The sky was a dull, leaden color, the clouds scraping the hilltops, foot high waves pushing us along at a brisk pace. There was a damp, penetrating chill in the air but we were dressed warmly and were fairly comfortable considering the conditions. I couldn’t see another boat anywhere at our end of the bay.

Bass of all sizes were holding against the shoreline. An accurate cast tight to good-looking cover almost always triggered a strike from a smallmouth from 6 to 16 inches. We must have caught 20 bass that first hour and were really enjoying ourselves. Jane made a great cast beside a log and the water bulged. She set the hook and to our surprise landed a 20-inch walleye. It hit just like a bass. Oh, how I wished I’d brought my nightcrawlers along. We’d have killed the ‘eyes with a jig and crawler in these conditions. We did well enough , though, in the creek mouth we caught five other walleyes 16 inches and up.

Jane fired a perfect cast between two rocks, let it sit, twitched it twice and the water exploded. After a brisk battle she landed an 18-inch largemouth! That’s very unusual in the Allegheny Reservoir.

Fresh walleye for dinner that evening, delicious! During the night it began raining and at 2 in the morning we heard a car start up. That shallow depression was now a large puddle.

Imagine that.