Near Death on the Smith River... Dropped my beloved flyrod and reel into the river while scurrying over the banks of the Smith...but in the crystal clear waters of April, I could see it lodged in the rocks...five to six feet below! Having taken my share of tumbles into cold rivers, I built a fire on the bank. I waited for the fire to get good and hot. Then... I took off my waders. Stripped down naked. Dove in the river and swam for my rod....but missed! Damn...I had to do it again. Butt-naked up the rocks I go...to try another dive. So, as I am standing there shivering on the bank waiting to dive (for the second time!), I knew I didn't want to dive a third time! The position of my dive was critical. I had to dive in the hole ahead of my rod. I needed to swim down far enough to grab the rod without the current pushing me past it. Splash...and this time I made the grab! Rod in hand and butt-naked, I shiver up the rocks again...to the safety of my fire. As I stood there naked by the fire in the redwoods, I laughed. I got warm and dry and then got dressed. Put my waders back on. And went fishing.