Make a good story, not a last one

Once I got there, I wasn’t so sure it was the right place to be.
On Alaska’s Thorne River, a few miles from its mouth, salmon funnel up a little pinch at the end of a rocky spit, then spread out in a deep pool. From the spit I couldn’t get the angle and speed I wanted, so I hiked on a tiny moss-covered ledge that took me up and over a monolithic limestone face. I lowered myself down onto a flat section then began casting. My boots almost hung over the ledge.
“If I fall in, it’s over.” I yelled to my buddy on the spit. There was no place other than this rock to get out of the water, and I probably would drown before the current got me to the flat rocky spit and my buddy, Dean.

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