Richard and I like to get in the water, too. I swim anytime I can, and he looks for excuses to head to the nearest fishing hole. Lucky for him, my brother, Wesley, has the same idea. If you just say the word "fish," they both get that deer-in-the-headlight look, ready to make a break for it.

I think that's a genetic trait. My grandfather, Pete, was quite the fisherman. He was known to pull quite a few nice ones out the river over the years he roamed the waters. It seemed to be in his blood. He also had a knack for somehow getting others to go along for the ride and then end up doing most of the hard work, like rowing the boat or cleaning the catch. And, he could captivate you with stories about all those adventures. Fishing was one of the highlights of his life, and he was good at it.

Now, years after he's passed away, I still hear stories about his adventures and I realize the fishing was a by-product of the country lifestyle, particularly near a river. It's one of the ways a country boy can afford a cheap thrill (or, a country girl for that matter). And, once you reel in a lunker or two, you kind of get "hooked." Just like Grandpa, Richard and Wesley can't resist the urge to fish when the weather is right.

A few weeks ago they were finally able to coordinate a time when they both could do some night fishing and trot lining. Wesley and his family set up a campsite for the weekend by the water's edge. Rich and I came with our kids later one evening prepared for a low-key, quiet time deep in the middle of nowhere.

I wasn't sure I wanted to hang out all night but I thought I might get the chance to relax, maybe take a swim with the kids, or just generally get some "mud between our toes" walking in the shallows.

I packed the essentials - mainly bug spray, liquid refreshments, and a couple good chairs. Richard loaded everything else but the kitchen sink - our truck looked kind of like a Bass Pro Shop on wheels. One thing neither of us did was look at the weather forecast. The sky was clear, the air warm and there was adequate moonlight to navigate the boat under the stars. We headed down the road looking forward to some family time and hoping to get a good pan of fish out of the deal.

We finally found the riverbank where Wes was camped. It was not easily accessible without four-wheel drive (and we happened to be driving a truck that was not) but everything was dry so it seemed OK. We pulled down over the hill and set up for the night. The kids enjoyed a walk in the river and the guys eventually took off in the boat.

Everything seemed fine until well after dark, when an eerie kind of wind started blowing. Thick clouds were rolling past the stars and the bright moonlight suddenly dimmed. We started feeling a bit nervous and packed some items in the truck just in case. Fortunately, we could see the boat returning in the distance and I knew the guys had sensed that same eerie feeling.

A few minutes later, without warning, a massive lighting bolt lit up the sky and thunder cracked simultaneously directly above us. It happened again and the rain started falling in waves. We all scattered like buckshot, trying to think on our feet.

Wes and his family headed for the safety of his truck. Richard immediately hopped in our truck, knowing if he didn't get back up that narrow hill at that moment, the truck wouldn't be going anywhere for a couple of days. It was a dirt slope that would be a wall of mud in a matter of minutes.

Me and my two petrified kids scurried to gather our belongings, grab the flashlight and run up the hill behind him once he safely made it to the top. The lightning was dangerously close and the thunder vibrated the ground below us.

No sooner than we started up the hill the mud came. Before I knew it, I fell face first in the muddy road, dropping the flashlight and losing contact with the kids. Everything went dark and I wasn't sure if I was dead or just in a bad dream. Both the kids started screaming and I realized I wasn't really dead - yet - but in extreme pain and unable to get up. And, no matter what I did, I couldn't keep from sliding further down the hill.

I wasn't sure how I was going to get out of this mess but I prayed Wes was not setting in his truck watching all of it unfold from the

distance. The next thing I knew Richard was nearby trying to rescue us. I told him to get the kids somehow to the truck and I would fend for myself until he got back. I could see him struggling to stay on his feet, too.

It was still pitch black, except for the intense lightning. I couldn't stand, I was still sliding down the hill and I didn't know where I was headed. I just prayed it wasn't over the side and into the water. I tried to feel around in the dark and find the edge of the road, reaching for the woods and weeds on the high side. I kicked off my slick shoes hoping for a little traction and prayed I wouldn't step on some sort of critter in the process.

My shorts were soaking wet, I had no socks or shoes on, I was covered entirely with mud and had something very wrong with my knee. The more I tried to stand up, the more I wallowed myself further down the hill.

Each time the lighting came, I could just imagine Wesley watching me in the distance for that split second, just enough time to wonder what in the devil was going on before it got dark again. Kind of like a bad strobe light effect in a cheap horror film. I had to look like some rabid Sasquatch in a pink shirt, mud wrestling on the hillside. I realized that if the fishing wasn't enough entertainment, I was surely providing them a good laugh or two at this point. I finally just gave up laid down in the mess.

Richard eventually returned with a flashlight. It didn't take long for his chuckling to turn to concern when he realized I couldn't stand up. He helped me crawl over to the weeds and to a sapling I could grab. When I got to my feet I could barely walk the short distance to the truck. I had busted my knee and it was already starting to swell.

When I made it there, my kids went from sobbing to sudden silence. I think they were wondering if their Mother had morphed into some sort of muddy river blob that had crawled out of the water and up the bank. No one said a word and we quietly headed toward home.

Just a few minutes up the road, the rain quit, it got dry and there was no more lightning. The storm died as quickly as it had appeared. By the time we got back to town there was no evidence of rain anywhere. Suddenly the whole affair seemed a little humorous and we all couldn't help but laugh.

Although my knee was bloody and throbbing, I was soaked from head to toe in mud, and my clothes were ruined, the only thing I could think of was what a show it must have been for everyone else. I stepped in the shower to get cleaned up and put back together. I decided fishing didn't seem all that appealing anymore and Richard might be better off to make the next trip alone. I spent a couple of weeks not being able to walk right, covered with poison ivy that I must have caught rolling around in the muddy weeds.

Only in the country can a weekend fishing trip turn into such an entertaining event, at least for some of us. I can laugh now, only because Wesley assured me the next day that they hadn't seen a thing. At least that's what he told me.

I knew Grandpa was looking down from somewhere above wondering how I got mixed up in his fishing lineage and hoping I'd take up another of his habits, like captivating folks with stories about adventures in the country.