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3. On the Fly

After arriving home from work I made a mad dash for the river, only a fifteen minute drive but I forgot the vest.

I had to quit fishing early, due to a dinner engagement, so I rushed to the motel with only minutes to spare. I locked the keys in the car and had no spare.

Figuring that haste makes waste I took my time getting into my waders. Pulling up behind me a guy jumps out of his car with his waders on and beats me to the spot.

On this hot summer afternoon I changed from my jeans into a pair of shorts in the bed of the pickup, making it much cooler in my light breathable waders. Fished for a couple of hours and caught zilch. Got back to the truck and took off the waders then reached into my pocket for the keys. They were in my jeans locked in the truck. Not to worry, I had a spare in one of those magnetic key boxes located in the rear bumper. I felt, then crawled under and searched that whole bumper, DAMN. Hitched a ride home in my shorts and felt soled wadding boots where I was sure I had a spare. DAMN, the spare was in the magnetic key box. Two hours latter and fifty dollars poorer Bill’s Locksmith opened my door.

After a forty-five minute drive from my motel and then a thirty minute climb along the winding high mountain river I reached my destination. Not long after I succumbed to a fit of rage and broke my rod (another story). I hiked back to the car to grab my spare, this time I had the key, but the spare rod was back at the motel.

Parked at Groat’s Landing mine was the only vehicle. I hadn’t planed on venturing far so I left the truck unlocked. I heard a vehicle pull in and shortly after pull out and thought nothing of it. In returning to the truck I opened the door and caught a whiff of cigarette smoke. Strange, I thought, I didn’t smoke. Missing was a pair of binoculars.

I stopped at one of those Colorado Western Slope Reservoirs on the way back from Utah in hopes of catching a few more trout. I suited up and made the short walk to the bank and started casting. Out about two casting lengths fish were rising so I started to make my way out noticing how soft the bottom was. I started sinking into the muck and the going was getting treacherous so I decided to cast from where I was. As I made the first cast I noticed that I was sinking, by the time I made my second cast I was helplessly stuck. As I struggled to turn around my dilemma first turned to panic as any move only made the situation worse. I stood motionless turning only my head looking for anyone around fighting off the feeling of embarrassment and yet hoping for the possibility of help. About a mile away on the other side I saw some people on the bank but I knew my pleas would go unnoticed. Calmly I faced the predicament of extracting myself and noticed that if I made miniscule movements progress was at least possible. What took me only minutes to get into took me an hour to get out of.

OMG Allan, that sounds like the perfect disaster of a fishing trip! A whole bunch of dreaded "episodes" all wrapped into one! A true "comedy of errors", though I'm sure it was anything but funny at the time...

Thanks for sharing, and I sincerely hope you feel better now.

Jonathon

Why do we fish?? :)

wow you've really been through the ringer! Hope your next out is as eventful but in a fishier type of way!

It's fun, right?...Right?

:)

C'mon, all that didn't really happen. You're actually writing a script for a Ben Stiller comedy and you thought you'd try it out here first. It's a good one, though. I think you should submit it!