Born and raised on a cattle and horse ranch in Oregon's Big Empty. By age 14, alone, I'm regularly taking a pack horse resupply run into the summer high meadows, locating the sheep herders and their flocks.
One time, alone again, I'm deer hunting in the high hills. By prior arrangement, my dad and I agreed to meet at a spot on the trail where he'd collect me and any deer I'd managed to drop. This time, however, a freak rainstorm hits, and I get soaked to the bone. The storm was big enough that I knew someone would notice and come to collect me, so I high tailed for the meeting point.
Sure enough, it wasn't long before I could hear one of the ranch trucks growling its way up the trail. It was my dad with a fresh set of dry clothes and a bath towel for me. At the back end of the truck I stripped down to my birthday suit and started drying off. It was then my dad said "damn boy, your nothin' but one big puddle of water!"
Unfortunately, my kid brother was along for the ride, and he made sure the nickname stuck.