Putting in the hours. Credit: Estelle Edwards Fish are omnipresent. Whether Claude’s talking about his latest catch, an angler is asking me what fly to use (I don’t know), or I’m taking Utah suckers out of gillnets, I am drowning in fish… but I have never caught one. I have yet to be blessed with a bite on a Parachute Adams, Zebra Midge, or Montreal Whore, but thanks to fishing-adjacent research experiences, I’ve gotten a taste of the thrill.  Back in May, I helped manage the Buffalo Fish Ladder. Each fish was identified, measured, sexed, and carefully released back into the water. The workflow was simple: I netted a lot of fish, placed them in a bucket, struggled to grab one, struggled to hold it still and measure it, and struggled to free it in the water. All the while, Joe sat on a rock, waiting for numbers only I could provide. He spent a lot of time waiting.  Working the fish ladder, I saw dace, whitefish, rainbow, brook, sculpin, and even a redside shiner. At first, I squirmed as I clumsily held flopping fish to the measuring board, but by the end, I bonded with every fish. I cradled