This all brought me back to August 16, 1977. It was a warm summer Tuesday, and my family was vacationing in a cottage up in Port Sanilac, Michigan. The cottage was a grubby but beloved place where we voluntarily lived in squalor a few weeks each year, "roughing it" in our own way, which meant no privacy, suspect plumbing, and a lot of insects. That afternoon, we heard on the radio that Elvis Presley had died. I will never forget how sad my mother was. Elvis was a part of her childhood, and now he was gone. I was 14 and didn't really get it at the time — to me, Elvis was some guy in Saturday-morning movies, although I always thought it was cool when Nixon gave him the DEA badge. Little did I know that while Elvis was not part of my childhood, 35 years later, his music would become the soundtrack for my capture of a rare trout species.