Devil's Postpile part 3

It was very dark before we got on the road again.  We stopped at a Shell station in Mammoth for firewood.  Then we took the long, winding road down into the canyon.  I thought I glimpsed a silver fox, but maybe it was a coyote disappearing into the woods.  Sure had a bushy tail.  We actually got a nice campsite even for how late it was, right near the San Joaquin River and the Postpile.  Site A 13.  I got the lantern going and put up the tent.  "Tents," I should say because Shirelle brought a second tent "for the clothes."
I didn't really even argue or ask any questions about that beyond the most cursory inquisition, I pretty much just put up the second tent, too.  Before going to sleep, I emptied my pockets into the bag that hangs from one of the interior walls of the tent.  My wallet was not among the contents. With lantern and flashlight, we searched all over. We looked in the car.  Looked and re-looked everywhere in the vicinity.  No wallet.  Did I leave it at the Shell station?  I'd had it to buy the firewood.  Nearby a ranger station with a payphone in front guarded the entrance to the campsite.  I called information, and got the number to the Shell station.  I called and asked if they had found a wallet.  Of course not.  There had been about two hundred cash in it, not to mention credit cards, ATM, license.  Shirelle had fifty dollars and nothing else.  Was that enough to buy gas to get home?  FUCK  FUCK FUCK!  WE'RE DOOMED!  WE'RE CURSED!  THIS IS THE DEVIL'S TRIP! There was nothing left to do but go to sleep.  It was a very cold night.
The next morning, the ranger strong-armed us for twelve of our fifty dollars, even though we'd gotten in after midnight.  We decided to call home and ask someone to wire us some money.  We called my mom.  She said she would do it.  On the way into town, I decided to stop by the Shell station and threaten the manager with some civil action.  I walked in.  He was on the phone.  "...some guy left his wallet in here last night..." he was saying.  I waved my arms and pointed to myself.  He asked me my birthday and my last name and handed me my wallet.  Hooray.  I handed him a twenty and said thanks.  We came back to the campsite.  I looked over some newspapers I had brought back from town.  Shirelle wanted to fish.  We tried the river first, but it was raging with El Nino snowmelt.  So we drove up to Sotcher Lake.  I was positive we wouldn't catch any fish. We hiked around the lake to a sandy beach.  I tossed out a line, rolled and lit a joint, and opened a beer.  I reeled in my line. There was some resistance.  An underwater branch or something.  I kept reeling.  It was a rainbow!  About a one-pounder.  I used a corkscrew on my pocketknife to get the hook out of its throat and put it in my creel.  We fished another hour.  Shirelle fell in the lake and wanted to return to camp.  We hiked up over some bluffs around the lake back to the car.  We showered at Red's Meadow natural hot springs.
Back at camp, I started a fire and cleaned and filleted our trout.  I thanked God a little fearfully for the trout, a little guilty about killing him, and then I cooked him with butter and seasonings and onions and plopped the fillets in warm tortillas.  We ate him with baked beans and grilled sourdough bread and beer. 
It's dark now.  The fire's going.  The lantern's on.  Shirelle's smoking.  I guess we might play some cards before we turn in.  I'll read some of that Maughm and a chapter of Fante.  Thanks, again, God for the fish and for giving me my wallet back.  Bless our hike to Rainbow Falls tomorrow.