Maggots will also learn how to double-haul in three minutes under the gentle tutelage of D.I.s screaming such incisive questions as "What the hell do you think you're doing, you sniveling, uncoordinated, sheep-kissing moron?" Day Three: The blood, sweat, and pathetic whimpering pay off on Hell Day. At 0300 hours, Maggots, goaded by D.I.s into a ferocious fish-fighting frenzy, begin the wicked weeding-out process with¿¿¿the Test. As a stress-induced cocktail of caffeine, adrenaline, and testosterone hammers through their veins, they race the clock to field-strip and reassemble a standard-issue fly rig, from backing to 7X tippet, then tie on a No. 28 Trico-with both eyes duct-taped shut.