Water is one of the keys to living at a high elevation. You have to drink at least twice as much water here as you would at sea level just to feel normal. I am a water drinker anyway. When I worked, I had my designated office Tervis (24 ounces, orange monogram and lid) and my home and car cup (SIC, 30 ounces, blue, sadly no monogram). My water glass is not unlike Linus’s blanket. I feel better knowing it is at hand. 

About twenty-five years ago, I had a cough that I could not shake. I was in a meeting with two men when I began to cough. Within seconds I was coughing badly and could not breathe. These were not particularly insightful or helpful men, so it wasn’t until I was able to gasp out, “get me water please” that one of them finally found me something to drink. It was a scarring experience, and I have seldom been very far from something to drink since then.  

The first time I visited the Rockies was almost thirty years ago. Evans and I went to Aspen to see where he had grown up. I was fine until I wasn’t. The altitude sickness and dehydration hit me like a bulldozer and he practically dragged me into a diner. I remember drinking glass after glass of club soda and finally feeling like I maybe might live. 

After years of being a Diet Pepsi junkie, I have all but sworn off sodas. I will still have a Diet Coke when I wake up if I am dragging, but now I mostly drink water with a little bit of Orange Vitamin Water poured in for flavor. And, as a rule, I drink plenty. Except for yesterday.

I had booked another day of fishing with the wonderful Ben of Dragonfly Anglers. I was meeting him at 8:30 so I got up around 7. I took a drink of the water by my bedside and got ready. I made a peanut butter and banana sandwich to have all the protein and carbs I knew I would need to hike and fish. I was sluggish so I grabbed a Diet Coke and hurried to the car. Right as I pulled into Dragonfly, I realized I had not packed my Camelback filled with water. Luckily, I found a partial bottle of diluted vitamin water that was rolling around on the floor of the car and was sure I would be fine. I was not fine.

I realized about the time I finished my Diet Coke that I had had little else to drink that day. I didn’t drink a large glass of water in preparation for standing in the sun in the middle of the river. It began to dawn on me that I had made a mistake. 

As in all the best fishing trips, the first hour was driving and the second forty-five minutes was hiking – in waders and wading boots of course. By the time we got to the river, I was dry and a little shaky. I gamely waded into the middle of the water and began to cast mostly in the general direction Ben suggested. The more I flailed, the shakier I was. About twenty minutes into fishing, everything started to go black. 

When I was a kid, there were a few times I locked my knees and went down like a tree. I wasn’t a consistent fainter, but it could happen. In the last few years, with or without locking my knees, I have come close to fainting three or maybe six times. Usually, it happens in a crowded room when I have been standing too long. If you are a kid and you faint, they carry you off the stage. In your fifties, they call the paramedics. So far I have managed to get out of the crowd before I did a full swoon. Once I was at a friend’s house and had to call Evans and Langley to come get me because I couldn’t walk to the car or drive, but at least there were no EMTs.

So, yesterday, I found myself in the middle of the river, contemplating my options. Do I ignore it and it will go away? (No. Big no.) Can I get to the shore under my own power? (Maybe. Maybe not. This is so not good.) Is there any way I can keep Ben from knowing that I am going to faint in the middle of Spring Creek? (Oh please. Oh, please let me get away with this.)

I managed to casually say, “Ben, I think I am going to take a quick break.” I am sure Ben was thinking that I had been fishing all of ten minutes, but I’m the client so ok. I got to shore and sat down. I considered whether I should drink all of the little water I had with me or ration it for the rest of the morning. As everything got even blacker, I downed it as fast as I could. I encouraged Ben to fish for a minute while I rested. Actually, I just wanted him to face the river and not his pasty client who was plunging her arms up to the elbows in icy water trying to keep herself conscious. 

After a few minutes, I began to rally. I honestly believe there was some divine intervention because it seldom ends that well. I managed to reclaim my fly rod and again tried to catch a wily river trout. I have never fished worse. Poor Ben. Nothing we did worked. He scouted. He suggested. We moved upstream. He found fish and had me cast directly to the fish. I swear I bonked one on the head and he just swam away. I knew that I had used up all my good luck by being upright. I could not tell Ben that there was no way I was actually going to catch a fish too. 

I only booked a half-day trip so about noon we again hiked four hundred miles back to the truck. When we got there, Ben said, “Hey, let’s try up above the reservoir!” I stopped thinking, “don’t die, don’t die, don’t die” long enough to suggest that I didn’t want to overstay the time we had booked and take advantage of him. The wonderful Ben insisted there was nothing else he had to do, and he was having great fun. Off to the upper stream we went. 

It was beautiful. The hike from the truck to the river was not as far or as challenging. Again, I desperately and futilely flung bits of elk hair and barbed metal at unsuspecting fish. Again, they ignored me. After about an hour, I convinced Ben that we were snake bit and that it was time to cut our losses. 

By this time, I was no longer in danger of fainting, but I was as parched as the dusty road we were driving. Ben was surprised that I was not disappointed that we hadn’t caught any fish. I was so thrilled I hadn’t landed face down in the water, I considered the day a huge success. He even commented on my good attitude. 

We made it back to the shop and said our goodbyes. When I got in my car, I searched the floorboards for any undrained bottle of anything I might have left there and finished them off. As soon as I got home, I headed straight to the kitchen and downed a quick 24 ounces then refilled my security cup and started again. 

People say a bad day fishing is better than a good day working. That is true. A bad day fishing where you really should have keeled over because you were not smart enough to drink enough water is an excellent day no matter what.