While fly-fishing in the remote Eastern Sierra, it was just him, his neoprene waders, and a very stinky port-o-potty. When nature called, disaster struck—his keys slipped into the hole. With no choice but to wait, he patiently bided his time until another family arrived with more fishing tools, including a big spoon. Carefully and patiently, he ‘fished’ for his keys until he finally reeled them in—then spent far too much time scrubbing them clean in the river.