Take a "fall" with me down memory lane!

Catherine and I are pleased to present to you (whether living or yet to be) our blog. We have been introduced to the gloriousness of blogs by my wonderful sisters and we are excited to join the ranks. Although it is just the two of us, there is never a dull moment; since we are a bit disconnected from the rest of the family, we thought this would be an excellent method of sharing our lives with you.
Winters seem to be eternal in the upper Snake River Plain! It’s troubling to think that I would rejoice at a forecast of 30, but that is what I’ve been reduced to. Another oddity is my new-found obsession with “overcast” days. Commence pointing the finger of blame at Ryan: overcast days are much better fishing than sunny days! I wake up with the excitement of a child on Christmas morning and trudge to the TV, hoping that the weekend forecast reads “30’s and overcast”. As many of you have noticed, Catherine posted a movie and pictures of one of our recent fishing trips on one said “30’s and overcast” day. The story to accompany the media is essential for understanding…
Catherine was luckily willing to accompany me on one of my first outings of the New Year (in hindsight, what a blessing that she came!) because none of my fishing friends could justify coming with me. As we ventured to Ashton, we passed a sign for “Fun Farm Bridge”. Earlier in the week, I read a fishing report that recommended fishing at Fun Farm Bridge. I always hesitate fishing in new places because returning home without having caught a fish is like walking away from American Idol without a golden ticket to Hollywood! However, fishing 15 minutes closer to home was appealing on a day that Catherine was willing to come with me. We turned off the highway and inspected the locale. To me it seemed shallow, lacking structure, and a waste of time. However, as we tromped down to the river, it became apparent that it was NOT shallow. I couldn’t see the bottom. Because of the arctic air of SE Idaho, there was a significant outcrop of shore ice (frozen over section of the river) that supported our weight. I “girt up my loins”, manned my arms, and proceeded to cast into the slowly creeping water. As I presented my flies a second time, my indicator dropped like the popularity of health care reform! I set firmly and amazed Catherine that I had hooked a fish in so little time. And thus began our disaster, my demise…
The fish was of considerable size and began to run downstream on me. As he tired, and I worked him slowly back my direction, he darted for the darkness created under the shore ice. Fearing that the ice would cut my line, I attempted to coax him out but I couldn’t step out any farther on the ice. I decided to work my way upstream to an area that appeared to have no shore ice, a spot where I’d be able to land the fish easily. However, as I walked upstream, the ice broke through. To my surprise, however, my feet quickly struck ground and I was only in four inches of water! Assuming the water in this area was shallower, I thought it would be possible to break a path in the shore ice so that I could drag the fish to me! As I chiseled away as the ice with my heel, my foot broke through. Much to my chagrin, it was not shallow under the shore ice and I fell into water up to my armpits. I would have been alright and able to land that fish had I not panicked. Cold water rushing over my waders, shivering my innards didn’t help much. As I gathered myself back onto the shore ice, resembling a wet rat I’m sure, I was amazed that the fish was still hooked! However, now my line was tangled around a portion of ice I had jarred lose! Inevitably, this time my line broke and I lost the fish.
The disaster doesn’t end here. I would have been alright losing the fish without having taken a picture first. However, the stars must have been aligned in such a way so as to induce a magnetic field that caused an even worse run of luck. Somehow the fish had managed to get stuck on top of the ice I jarred lose! We have no idea how it happened. So here’s this beautiful brown trout, with my flies in his mouth, stuck on an iceberg floating down the river to meet his Maker! I must admit, I occasionally keep the fish I catch because Catherine likes trout. I’m okay killing a fish, but I’m not okay sending one down the river to freeze on a chunk of ice! I acted fast, reaching for the iceberg with my rod. The recently broken ice was weak, and I fell in again! No matter! I had to get that fish back in the water. I managed to hook my reel onto the iceberg and pull it ever-so-slowly to me. Still out of reach of my hand, I had to poke the fish over and over until he realized “Hey, I think I can make it off this ice” and that he did. Off he swam like a flash, obviously in good enough condition based on his speedy departure. Frozen solid, very frustrated and quite humiliated, I hung my head and decided to head back home. In all, an hour was spent on the river: 20 seconds to hook the fish, 20 seconds to climb out of the river, and 59 minutes 20 seconds to save the darn thing's life.
In hindsight, what better fishing memory could we have wanted. Even if we’d caught a dozen 12” fish, a more memorable experience wouldn’t have been created. As we drove away, I told Catherine: “At the beginning, everything that could have possibly gone right did. Then, everything that could have possibly gone wrong did.” What a twist of fortune! What a morning! What a memory!