(From “Diaries...) Buck Fever Nov 29: I am alone in the canyon in my little boat. This is the coldest I can remember down here–ice all along the bank and still freezing at 3 pm. Gloveless fingers are nearly useless; I can’t even pull down a zipper for a much needed “pit stop” or plug the antenna into the GPS. And that’s not my only problem: There’s no way I’ll make the remaining four miles down river before dark. That leaves just two choices–get ready for my first night down here or find a way out of this canyon real fast. I pick up the cadence on the oars while pondering a string of mistakes that put me here: I leave home an hour too late–at 6:30 instead of the usual 5:30 am. I take the long road, which is better (less winding) but has a lot more traffic, and end up losing another hour stuck in line behind a nasty car wreck. I push my little boat away from the put-in at 10:30 am–way too late in the day (for this time of year, at least), except when the river is running high and fast. And the biggest mistake of all? I fail to recognize the river’s very low flow, which today has meant more dragging the boat (more time-consuming) than rowing it. Nevertheless, I chuckle at my mistakes. “Buck fever,” I know–just like the hunter who pulls the trigger too soon. In my exuberance to get out here and put the first survey of the season in the books, common sense and good judgement developed through six years of surveys go by the wayside. But within this bad news lies a good omen, too: My desire for doing all this is still obviously burning! May the flame not die before directing my aging body back out here for a few more seasons. Then I jerk back to reality and make my decision. I’m not spending tonight down here. It’s way too cold! Besides, a search will be triggered if I don’t report in. I have to get out. An hour later the steep terrain moderates, yielding a more gradual 300-yard slope with minimal vegetation that ultimately leads up to the road. I will climb out here. And just maybe I’ll have enough “gas” left to pull the boat and my gear up to the road, too. I summon remaining strength and scramble up the hillside in the quickly-fading sunlight. I step onto the road, duping device (gas can) in hand. Five minutes later the first car–a contractor and his wife from the city–rolls to a stop. I am soon back at my vehicle near the putin. And soon after that, as darkness is settling in, I arrive back on the road, above where the boat and gear wait quietly and unnoticed. Should I try dragging it up the hill, or wait and deal with it tomorrow? My body helps provide the answer. Not enough “gas” remaining in these tanks–better sleep on it. Then a lightbulb goes off. Could the tiny little motorcycle strapped to my trailer be up to the task? Probably not, but I decide to tie on a rope and try anyway. To my surprise, the little 75-pound bike easily hauls both my tired, sweating 200-pound body and the boat up the hillside to the waiting trailer without even breaking traction. Thank goodness for free trade with China! Two more quick trips up and down the hillside on the bike and everything is loaded and ready to go. It’s time to find a place to camp and make dinner. The next morning reveals yet another buck-fever-generated mistake to laugh at on this season-christening survey. I discover that the river’s mouth is still closed, completely blocked by a massive sandbar! The rain three days earlier which brought me here has failed to break it open. So the adult steelhead I am here to count are still waiting patiently in the nearby sea–not the river. Only more rain will finally open the gate to their spawning grounds. Driving home, I smile inwardly again at the events of yet another adventurous trip. Buck fever reigns and it’s a serious disease, no doubt about it! And one I hope to be blessed not to recover from anytime soon!