I needed a pair of waders. It was that simple. The water was so cold it made me feel like I had been digging in the ice-cold beer cooler at a weekend barbecue for more than five minutes with my feet (gross, I know, but follow me here), only I didn’t come away with a frothy beverage—just cold feet.
I’ve heard plenty of funny hunting stories over the years, but one of my personal favorites comes from my Dad, set a year so before I was even born and just after my parents had moved in together.