Briskly rubbing blue hands together and exploring more of the Provo River's dwindled expanse, I discovered one small hole after another.  Each produced goodly numbers of micro-trout brookies.  I caught, removed, tossed back...  Finally, after about an hour and three dozen trout later, I could no longer feel my rock sitting end and decided the better part of valor was to avoid complete and total hypothermia.  What is the old saying?  "Better to thaw and drive away and live to fish another day!"