When I was in college, Spider McGee, Charlie Fox, and I loved to fish off log boom in river near my house on summer afternoons. We'd sit and talk about life, drink hot chocolate, and occasionally catch a fish or two. But one day, Spider yelled, "Hey, I got something, and it feels big!"

Catching any fish—of any size—was always a surprise, but hooking something big was reason for genuine excitement. As Spider began to reel, his pole bent almost in half.

"This thing is a monster," he said, drag on his reel screaming.

After twenty minutes or so, he'd gotten it close enough to boom to get a glimpse of his catch. It was a snapping turtle.

"Ah, man, that's too bad," said Charlie. "I thought maybe you had Old Granddad there, for a second. Cut line and let him go."

"Are you crazy?" said Spider. "That lure was given to my dad by his grandfather. It was hand-carved in Norway—and he doesn’t even know I borrowed it! I gotta get it back."

"Well, how're you gonna do that?" I asked—and was soon sorry I had.

"I'll just bring him up to edge of boom, and you guys reach out and grab it," Spider said calmly.

Now, I'm dumb, but I'm not stupid.

I said, "No, no, no—you bring him to edge of boom, and then I'll try to pry lure loose with a stick."

"OK, that’ll work," said Spider.

As Spider struggled to bring turtle close to edge of boom, Charlie handed me a long stick. I reached out, and turtle's jaws instantly clamped down on stick. I lifted him out of water, and we headed toward bank.

Once on shore, we set angry turtle on ground, but he refused to let go of stick, lure still dangling from corner of his mouth. I reached out with my tennis shoe to nudge him in back, and instantly learned several interesting things about snapping turtles. First, they're not as slow as you might think, second, they're very agile, and third, they're well-named.

I've never been what you'd call a wild child. When I was in grade school, most negative thing teachers used to write on my report cards was "can't keep hands off other students."

In high school, I deliberately skipped class once, but next day, teacher only said, "That's OK. You must've had a good reason," and when I tried skipping classes in college, no one even noticed.

My idea of a rousing Friday night was for Spider McGee, Digger Sanby and me to grab our poles and head for a night's fishing on log boom. One night, three of us were sitting side by side in dark, drinking cocoa and talking about life, when I suddenly felt a tug on my line. I jerked back to set hook, and my pole hit Spider squarely across face.

As he reached up, his hat flew off—right into river. It must have been one of his favorite hats, because a second later, Spider was in water himself. I was now faced with a classic dilemma. My buddy was in water—but I had a fish on line.

Without hesitation, I shouted, "Hey, Digger! Help guy, will ya? I got a fish on here!"

When we'd hauled Spider back onto boom, his drenched red hair and beard made him look like a large waterlogged orangutan—and an angry orangutan. Seems he'd also dropped his pole in water when he decided to go for a swim. I didn't see how he could blame me for his carelessness, but he didn’t seem to be in mood to discuss it.

By time he'd finally stopped whimpering, I'd landed my fish. In true “make do” fashion, Spider tried to salvage night by pulling a bunch of line out of his tackle box and tying whole setup to his ankle. After he'd cast out his makeshift setup, everything was quiet for awhile, until I heard a distinct "OOOF!"