One from the history books. Summer of '84, Lake Washington. Sockeye season. 604,000 record return count. 6-fish limit. Fish everywhere. I had been doing quite well for a guy in a 12' lake boat and little motor. There was every kind of watercraft out there vying for these fish. What a zoo. A friend of mine from a local dart pub saw the news clip and wanted to go with me, and we made arrangements. After launching at dawn, we made our way to the area where I had good success. My partner turned out to be quite a coffee drinker and we all know what that does to you, but I had it covered, a simple tin can will do. Within an hour I had already landed two fish - 0 for John. He had'nt had a single bite and we were rigged identically. After two more cups of coffee he announces he would like to return to the launch to take a leak. I refused. "Are we not men? We're too slow and too far out. Use the tin can." Apparently, he had an aversion to such activity. All he had to do was kneel down at the bow and take care of business. After holding his water for sometime, he could not take the pressure any longer, and moved to the bow, tin cup in hand. Meanwhile, I start spotting fish on the finder, we are near the edge of a school. My rod goes down. I set my hook, trying to maintain control of the boat, and stay out of everyone's way. John's rod goes down. He's at mid-steam so to speak. I yell at him to grab his rod. He makes an attempt with one hand, leaning backwards. About this time , we're struck by a wake of another boat causing John to lose his balance falling backwards, spilling the contents of the can on himself and his possessions, still sraying like a fire hose from all the coffee he drank. By the time he got to his rod, the fish was gone, and he was very upset because I was laughing at him so hard, he lost his first opportunity and the fact that I got another fish. Eventually, he did get a couple of fish. The moral of this story is that it's better to get pissed off than pissed on, but I guess it just wasn't his day.