I was out ice fishing. In the rain. It was my second time ice fishing over Christmas break. The weather was supposed to be drizzly at first, then clear up. It was clear at first, then poured for about two and a half hours straight.
This is just to say that when my phone rang at 11:30, I was a bit busy. Why? Well, I had an umbrella in one hand, an fishing jig in the other, I had mittens and gloves on, and a hat. My coat was wet, my hands were wet, and I’d caught two fish over the past three hours. Neither of them were good (a yellow perch and a chub).
Despite all of this, I was having a great time. I know–I have a problem, clearly. But Denisa called me, and I cheerfully got out my phone and started chatting away, holding it between my cheek and my shoulder.
If my cell phone had been any bigger, I wouldn’t have any problems. It would have stayed where I put it. But I had a new phone. A small phone.
A phone that slipped on my wet coat and went tumbling to the ice.
Or so I thought.
The hole I was fishing was seven inches across. Maybe. The LG Octane is over 4 inches long. Definitely. The odds of the phone falling right in that little hole? Gotta be slim to none.
But that’s where it fell.
Time slowed down. I looked at the phone, and saw it floating in the hole. It wasn’t sinking. I snatched off my glove and mitten, threw down my umbrella and jig, and dove for the phone. It could still be okay. A bit of uncooked rice–it would fix it right up. My arm plunged into the hole up to my elbow as the phone sunk faster than I’d hope. I got a last touch of it on my fingertips, and it was gone.
Eight feet down. A five inch layer of ice between me and the phone.
Moral of the story? Don’t ice fish and talk on the phone.
Also, don’t try calling me or texting me over the next few days. I have to reload.
The good news? I ended up getting a trout. Denisa enjoyed it very much.
I still want to go ice fishing. But next time, I’ve told Denisa that if she calls me, I’m just going to let the phone ring.