December 1977 I was 12 in the Pilchuck River. I had been buggin this guy from our church to take me steelheading and after putting me off a dozen times he finally relented. The morning we went was in the middle of a cold snap 10 degrees out, line freezing in the guides etc. - he was sure I'd wimp out. Fished hard all day wading several miles of river using corkies with eggs or sandshrimp with nothing to show. I was wearing an extremly cheep pair of thin plastic stocking-foot waders stuffed into my hiking boots and they split open at the crotch in the middle of crossing the river to fish the last drift of the day. Snagged up, broke off and decided I'd had enough. Starting to get dark but I figured I'd rig back up while waiting for my guide to make his last few casts. My waders are full of water which is starting to freeze. I finished up and made "one last cast" and a beautiful 12 lb native buck slams my plain pearl-pink corkie. Heck of a battle making me forget all about the water freezing around my feet. Landed and bonked the fish and hightailed it out of there walking a couple miles back up the railroad tracks to our car. It was so cold the water froze on the fish and then cracked making it look absolutely ghastly until we figured out it was just the water. Had to actually break the ice in my boots to get my feet out which were numb for several days after.

Great experience and spawned many a bike ride to the Pilchuck over the next several years.