This February 2nd, Rob and I decided to head off to the "Death March" as it's called. A steep hike into the Deschutes canyon. I thought it would be great for both of us - lots of fishing for Rob, scenic trails for me to hike, and an afternoon picnic and book in case I got bored. And the afternoon turned out to be just that: Rob fished, I trail ran, and we enjoyed the unusually warm sunny Saturday.
As we were heading out of the canyon, I decided I would just run on ahead. Rob was lugging his backpack and fishing gear out and I have the impatience of a 2 year old. But as I am heading up, Rob kept right on my tail. He eventually asked if we could stop and rest, and I did, despite the fact I was trying to pass a group of slow movers ahead of us.
In hindsight, I should've known it was going to happen. The scenic outlook. The awkwardness. The fact that Rob said we'd remember this day for the rest of our lives. Groundhog's day.
Then he he fumbled in his pocket, got on one knee, and pulled this number out:
Turns out you can catch more than fish down in that canyon. :)
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