That would be the day I woke up in the tent to find a porcupine eating my good waders. (Strike One) Moral? Always pack extra waders. This was the last day of the trip (Strike Two) before I had to head up north to work (which is always a sucky day anyway, right?). So I beat the porky off with a stick, examine waders. Desroyed. &*%^$%^&*^%!!!! Dirty mothertrucker.
Throw on my rubber waders, stumble down the bank to creek, splash entry. Spooked a big bow out from the cutbank. (Strike Three)
Waded up through some decent pocket water, caught a couple whites, a baby rainbow. Things lookin up.
Get upstream. Beavers threw the dam together and the water's backed up a good 2 feet higher than normal. (Strike Four) Opened the dam up to get the water moving a bit better.
Got to the log hole, fish were backed in under the trees due to the high water. Can't cast there. Dam. (Strike Five) Managed to land one decent 17" rainbow. Things lookin up. Ah, I'll go up to the corner pool, catch that big bow.
Crossing the nipple high water (dam beavers!) above the log hole and below the narrows, foot slipped, waders got FULL (Strike Six), started drifting down into the hole I just put the 'bow back into. AHHH! Managed to kick out and get onto some solid ground. Lost a metal flybox full of nymphs and a disposable camera. (Strike Seven)
Dam. Soaked to the nads in 5 degree May air temps 1.5km upriver from the truck. Dam
Caught one more fat whitey on the way down, but as I bent to pick him up, hook popped out and impaled itself rather gracefully into my ear (Strike Eight).
Got to truck, got part dry. Stripped off shirt and pants, tied em to the truck box to dry out. Got pulled over in a roadcheck on the way home (Strike Nine). Try explaining why you're driving in boxer shorts and no shoes in the first week of May to a female (Strike Ten, if you're keeping track) RCMP officer. Ain't no way to do that without blowing the alcohol tester.
What a day that was.