Several years ago my contractor friend and fellow fishing nut, Dave Stamborsky, talked me and our then White Center News print shop super Tom Retynski into a fishing trip to the Lewis River in Southwest Washington.

It was spring and the big Chinook salmon were running so Dave put his three-man boat in his big pickup and we headed south. About Centralia Dave stopped for gas and I told him to fill it and I would pay for the gas as my share of expenses. How was I to know he had dual 40 gallon tanks and both were on empty - my bill was 70 bucks. Both of them had a great laugh at my consternation.

When we got to the river we launched the 12-foot boat and found a hogline stretching clear across the river. About 40 boats were attached to it. We had no desire to be in that mess and opted to fish the short stretch of river about 500 yards from the hogline to a line where it met the Columbia. A warden came by and warned us that we had to avoid fishing the Columbia and sped away in his speedboat.

This meant that we had to fish a loop back and forth. When we got to the imaginary line of the edge of the Columbia we had to pull our lines out of the water, turn the boat, cross the line and then head back up toward the hogline.

We must have done this 50 times till once I didn't retrieve my line fast enough and suddenly out of some brush along the river's edge the ranger's speedboat raced over and he read me the riot act. Then he wrote me a ticket for $54 dollars while my two former friends laid in the bottom the boat with sides splitting from laughter. The ranger admonished them and asked if they preferred he write them each tickets . They shut up and he shoved off.

On that sour note we decided to go home to Seattle.

Stopping at the Ribeye for lunch we all ordered coffee with cream. The cream came in those little plastic cups that you peel the lid from. I poured cream in my coffee and idly played with the empty container. Just for fun I lined the missile up with Dave's eyebrow and flicked it with my finger. Wow. It flew straight and true, a perfect field goal to his forehead. He was stunned. I didn't know it was half full and the cream ran down his ample nose and drip-dripped onto the table.

He was very good natured about it but I didn't dare ask him about splitting the fishing ticket with me. Touch/.

Jerry respectfully paid his ticket and avoids the Columbia River. He can be reached at publisher@robinsonnews.com