In recent years, I have loved bridging the gap between the end of deer season and the start of turkey season by chasing cold water trout. Even though I am terrible at catching them, getting out in the cold late February air and chasing them around the skinny streams of the hill country has become a great seasonal tradition of mine.
This would be my first year trying my luck so I googled a few local hotspots and went out to test my luck. After considerable testing, my luck proved to be pretty terrible.
Clearly a significant pivot was needed.
The solution to my problems appeared obvious. Easy access and comfortable walking paths had lured me into its trap of crowded spots, littered with monster energy cans and bobbers hanging from every low hanging branch in sight. I needed to apply the same rules I use for public land deer hunting, “Find the steep and deep areas where no one else likes to go”.
With these changes in mind, I scoured google earth for the most remote accesses and set my alarm, eager for an exciting trip to come.
As the sun rose the following morning I pulled into an empty lot, a good sign already. While the flurries came down, I strapped my waders on and began fan casting into the current, taking note of the slippery rocks and fast-moving dark water.
After carefully working through a particularly swift section I set my feet and adjusted my lure for my next cast. I could still see the truck in my peripheral vision when I took one step too far and ended up off balance.
I stumbled and flailed helplessly, trying to regain my balance. However, the force of the current pushed me deeper into the unseen drop-off. In an instant, I found myself neck-deep in 33-degree water.
Moments later I felt the near frozen water seep through my five layers of clothing, my mind began racing. Control of both the situation and my emotions had slipped from my grasp. I took as deep a breath as I could manage and began chanting aloud, “Don’t panic, don’t panic,” while fighting to keep my head above water and lucid.
With my arms outstretched to keep myself vertical I pushed off as hard as I could from every rock the current carried me to. Half floating half bobbing and still screaming to myself I worked diagonally towards the bank and regained footing in knee deep water.
To the outside observer, it was a hilarious scene, bearing an uncanny resemblance to a toddler learning to swim for the first time. A grown man, dressed like Randy from A Christmas Story, wildly flailing in a creek 10 yards wide while screaming personal affirmations to himself. Even as I was standing on the water’s edge, soaking wet and colder than I had ever been, I found myself already laughing at myself, knowing it could have been much worse.
Unfortunately the long trip I had planned had come to an abrupt ending fifteen minutes in. Heading for home after another early morning and long drive without a nibble was a defeating feeling. On the bright side, it was an easy forty yard walk of shame back to the still warm truck.
After all my soaking wet clothes had been stripped off, and the warmth of the seat heaters on full blast, I decided from here on out I would be leaving the cold plunges to Joe Rogan. I can say for certain they do not make you feel as good as you are being led to believe.