A fishing nut since boyhood in Portland I lived a short hike from the Columbia Slough. I caught my first Chub there and came within a half inch of drowning when I slipped off a board in an old shack.

Luckily my brother Russ rescued me. I have gathered countless memories that I use to make my children wonder at my longevity and my penchant for making them laugh.

My adventures with rod and reel often included many fishing friends. One of those friends was a neighbor named Cliff, who lived across the street from me at McMicken Heights, east of the airport.

Cliff had an idea to try Lake Ki, in Arlington, as he had read about how great it was but I had a better idea. I had a friend who owned a cabin on Lake Cavanaugh, another hour north from Lake Ki. We could use his place anytime.

Opening day of low land lake fishing is always busy. We left Seattle about noon on Saturday. It took his pickup, his boat, his boy and my car to carry three boys. We figured to return home Sunday night with our limits!

It didn't start raining till we were halfway there. It didn't STOP raining after that. But, hey!, we had a cabin waiting for us. Who cares?

We found the place in spite of the gullywasher. We went down the mud path road. A humble, weathered cabin appeared to be growing out of the brush. We tumbled out of our cars and ran for the shelter. The key worked with some wiggling. A single light with a pull string dangled from the lone rafter.

Omigawd! The floor had half an inch of water.

With no squeegee or broom we did our best to rid the floor of water. After hauling in the fishing gear and the supplies, the kids tossed their sleeping bags on the semi-dry bunk boards.

Cliff was not too happy but managed to get a fire in the stove. We heated some pork and beans. I found a space with less water figuring I might have to sleep standing up.

Cliff, still grumbling, would have no part of it taking his bag out to his pickup bed and crawling into it. The rain stopped but he had no mattress; just rivet heads. I went out to check on him He was meaner than a junkyard dawg, shouting at me for my idea and moaning about rivet heads.

After a restless night we climbed out of our squishy bags, heated up some more pork and beans before heading out the door. A big surprise. The wind was howling near 50 mph when we got down to the dock.

Only a fool would take to the water now frothed with white caps. Of course only a fool would drive twice as far as needed to stay in a soggy cabin.

We managed to get two boats into the water staying close to shore. We could see the danger farther out on the lake. We motored gingerly, trolling some spoons. The wind won the battle that day as we got skunked in just over two hours. Lines got snagged or tangled and the boat bounced like a cartoon kangaroo.

The torture was too much. We pulled our boats in. One fishing party, venturing out too far, capsized and tragedy struck. We learned later they had lost a life.

We could hardly wait to leave the place. Since Lake Ki was right on our way home Cliff suggested we stop to check how folks did there. We barely entered the parking lot around 3:30 p.m. before we noticed a youngster hoisting a trophy-sized trout in his fist.

Cliff was steaming. Several anglers had their limits doing a lot of bank fishing from the porches of their freshly painted cabins.

Cliff forgave me years later for that disaster... I think. Maybe because I am a fishing NUT.