Avoiding jail in Iowa

"We're going to jail," said my cousin Tom as he stepped over the rusty barbed wire fence.

 Tom, my brother Don, and I had just left the rental car and we started walking through rows of tall corn on our way to the river to fish for smallmouth bass.

 Many years ago the farm had been owned by my grandfather when he moved his family from North Dakota to northern Iowa.

My dad grew up there.  Grandpa Gene sold the farm before I was born, but dad took me and my brother fishing there almost every week.

 Ralph, who bought the property, gave us permission to fish there "any ol'time.  Just be sure to close the gates."

 Well, over the years, the barbed wire had rusted, the gate had a different padlock, and land that had been pasture was now a jungle of thorny bushes.

 But I wasn't about to turn back.

 Two months ago, wife Nan asked what I wanted to do for my 70th birthday.

 I wanted to take Nan to the Minnesota State Fair and I wanted fish for smallmouth bass on the Red Cedar River, on the old Smalley farm.

 On Saturday we joined 190,000 Minnesotans at the "Great Minnesota Get Together," checked out a $37,000 ice house, ate every (un)imaginable food on a stick and attended a Carrie Underwood concert.

 We also fished several days on the Mississippi River where we got into some nice striped bass and crappies and I netted Don's 26-inch walleye.

 Our first stop on the Cedar River was several miles upstream from the farm.

 In little over two hours, we each caught over 30 bass on floating Rapalas and Mepps spinners.

 Late that afternoon we grabbed our spinning rods again before heading through the cornfield.

 I (really, probably, obviously) didn't have permission to walk to the river.

 I didn't ask at the house directly across the road from where we parked because, when I lived in Iowa, the owner (now obviously deceased) lived in town and the original Smalley home near the river had long since been torn down.

 When we got back to the rental car (which, incidentally had Illinois plates), we were met by a guy on a tractor, coming from the house across the road, who said he was "watching the property" for the owner.

 While the guy talked on a phone (presumably to his wife so she could call the Sheriff if things got out of hand!), I introduced myself.

 I told him my grandfather had sold the farm to Ralph and that my 70th birthday wish was to fish there again.

"And when'd he sell the farm?" the guy asked.

 I told him, "Before I was born!"

 Long story short, lots of name-dropping, knowing the same people, and good ol' fashioned Iowa trust, made everything good.

 I celebrated my birthday on the Red Cedar River.

 And we didn't see the inside of the Mitchell County jail.