For any of you contemplating a recreational jaunt to my neck of the woods, please consider the rights of the natives. We do not welcome you with open arms. Our habitat is not one big free playground in which you may frolic at will. Streams cannot be owned. But the bridges spanning them are still subject to rules of the road. They are designed for vehicle traffic.
DO NOT SET UP A CANVAS CAMP CHAIR ON THE BRIDGE!
Seriously. That is just rude. And dangerous. And makes me want to write Backroads Miz Manners about your obvious lack of on-road etiquette. A concrete bridge with no sides, wide enough for one car only, in a dip between steep grades with poor visibility until the driver is nearly upon the bridge, is no place to wet your worm and sip a beverage. Seriously.
Some fool woman did just that last week. She put her red fold-up chair nearly in the middle of the bridge. She needed comfortable room for her feet, I suppose. And her beverage was too big for the chair-arm holder. So she set it on the bridge beside her. It was a 44 oz. Like Lou Grant helping himself to half of the Veal Prince Orloff at Mary's dinner party, BRIDGEt took up half the bridge. I barely squeezed my SUV by her.
Never mind that the water in that creek is now twelve inches deep, a far cry from the twelve feet it achieves in flood stage. No self-respecting fish is going to be caught dead in that clear water. Fish have eyes, you know. They can see you trying to snag them. Especially in a red camp chair. And what fun is it to fish when you can see the bottom? See that there is nary a fish in sight? BRIDGEt might as well have set up her rig over a mud puddle. A galvanized bucket. A kiddy wading pool. She would have the same chance of success.
I am organizing a crew of Backroadsians for a trip to the city. We plan to take naps on the highway on and off ramps at rush hour. Fair is fair.