During one of our summer pilgrimages to Bass Lake, California, suffice it to say that Chuck's athletic ability afforded him a rescue of a family member. As an aside, Bass Lake forms one of the earliest memories of my life. I was five and was walking along a paved and winding utility road of a campground with my left hand clutched in my Dad's right hand. This was our campsite in 1962. Funny to see nobody in this picture except for our gear and Dad's station wagon. 
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