I couldn’t find my wading boots when I was packing for a two-day fishing trip recently. I looked everywhere. Twice. When it was time to go, I found my most beat-up tennis shoes and threw those in the car. They’d do, I reasoned. But it became clear pretty quickly that they would not do. Either the rocks are uncommonly slick this year or my coordination is uncommonly poor, because I fell almost as soon as I got in the water. I got up, moved a few feet farther out, and fell again. I watched a packet of Zoom crawfish float past me and realized they were mine. I’d failed to secure one of my pockets and the small amount of air in the packet made it very buoyant. Things weren’t going well. When I regained my feet, I moved to the nearest rock, stood on that, and fished from there the rest of the evening. Then I basically swam to shore, pulling myself along the rocks with my hands.