I thought it was just bad Chinese food. Or dehydration.
Turns out it was an appendicitis, on a little Ozark trout/smallmouth stream.
The smallmouth/goggle-eye action was silly. I didn't make it to fish the trout part, I was laying in the bottom of the canoe, holding my side and whining.
My friends took me to the local clinic, and the nurses naturally thought I was on meth. When they realized it WAS an appendicitis, and their surgeon was on vacation, I was shipped an hour west to Springfield.
Best part: The next morning, my friends drove by and stopped at this clinic to see how I was doing. The nurse says "Oh, Tom? He's gone." A #$!@-storm erupted until the wording was clarified, that I wasn't dead, that I had been shipped to another hospital.
Next best part: About two weeks afterward, my grandfather let me know he had his appendix removed, about the same time, sixty years earlier. Thanks for that bit of medical history, Pop