I'll try to keep it short.

1. Swimming across Icicle Creek to untangle a fish from the pilings at the bottom of the drift hole. Fish landed. By the way, that is one aptly named river. Brrr.

2. Flyfishing in Eastern Washington with a buddy, he hits a fish, I hit a fish. On dries. Same fish. Fish definitely landed.

3. Steelhead last spring. Land a hot twelve pound hen, flopping so bad I cut off the leader and off she goes. Sit down for a smoke. Get up, re-rig, flip out line, fish on. Same fish, still has other hook in mouth. My buddy took half a roll of film of that one.

4. Fell out of boat fishing at Lake Conconully. Twice in two years.

5. Fishing Tokul Cr. when very young. Set hook, fall on ass in river. Just like story above, the fish was on the bank before I was.

6. Hooked a seal at Whatcom Creek during college. Didn't land that one.

7. Hunting funny: Southeast Washington: City slicker in new jeans and flannel with wild ass in the back of his truck. "Biggest damn mule deer I've ever seen!!" He thanks me for the praise and heads back to Bellevue.

8. My best for last: Fishing a mostly secret Zipperlip for summerruns, and fish is hooked above a mile of rapids. Fish goes across and down, around a rock. I figure I'll cross. I had already decided it was too high to cross before hooking the fish, but this was different. Get across OK, line off of rock, fish back to other side, around another rock. While crossing back, slip, ass over tea kettle. My head didn't come up for ten seconds, two small waterfalls later. My buddy said all he could see was my boots. Once under control, feet in front, I settled in for the ride until I could get out of the river. After several painful crashes into rocks, with bruises and several year old scars on my legs and back to prove it, I finally get up on a rock in the middle of the river, but still knee deep in the water. My faithful Black Lab, Guinness, no doubt on a mission to save me, or to play with me, comes roaring down the river and takes me out at the knees. My second ride was as long as the first. Finally I dog paddle to the shore after two hundred yards of all out whitewater, and my buddy arrives as I am untangling the fishing line from all around my body. (I hope it would be obvious to say I lost my hat, fanny pack, knife, etc., but did NOT let loose of my GL3!) He arrives, I unwrap the line, and there's a damn near belly up twelve pound hatchery hen floating by. Still attached to my line. I reel her in, grab her by the tail, and let out a war whoop that likely sent every animal in the woods running. Then I sat down and shook like a leaf for ten minutes.

What a rush.

Todd.