There was that other time when we were hunting ducks on Thanksgiving morning many years ago. We were hunting a warm water slough and it was about six below zero. I dropped a mallard hen on the other side of the slough, so my little brother Gary offered to go get it. He walked the quarter mile or so back around the slough and got the duck, but on the way back he decided to take a shortcut across the slough. He got stuck in the mud and did a face-plant into the water.
He came walking up, crunching with every step. "Here's your DUCK!"
We made him go back to the truck get the heater going, and dis-robe.
Then there was the time, in April 1993, when my friend Smoke Rizen (Bud) took me and my son fishing from one of his rafts down Brown's Canyon on the Arkansas (North of Salida). There was about six of us in the raft and we got stuck on some rocks. Bud instructed us to jump to a rock a few feet away.
You guessed it, I missed the rock and ended up completely under water. Bud gave me his slicker (I'm 5-7, Bud's 6-4) and his cowboy hat and I started walking down the tracks beside the river, with my son. Riding the raft back would have been suicide (hypothermia).
As I started hiking down the tracks, Bud yelled from the raft
"Hey, you look just like Deputy Dawg."
I've never been so cold in my life.
Seems us Ashcrafts have an affinity for cold water.