You can’t fish as many years as I have without some real bloopers happening. I could make a Bill Dance “blooper film” very easily.
Last week my brother, Wayne, and I fished a few hours from my boat in Aransas Pass. We launched the boat near first light at Hampton’s Harbor.
“Let’s putt down harbor canal and see if we can hook a snook near the end where Terry did recently,” I said.
Wayne and Terry had started at the end of the harbor canal back in the winter and Terry had landed a 27-inch snook. I wanted to do the same. On Wayne’s first cast, a pelican flew across the path of his line and lure, snagging the bird under the wing. That pelican put up quite a fight as Wayne slowly reeled him in. And that bird was mad. I could just see Wayne’s hand getting ripped open trying to retrieve his hook. Finally, he covered the bird’s head with a towel and retrieved the hook. The pelican took flight, none the worse for the ideal. I couldn’t help but laugh at Wayne for such a stupid stunt.
Now let’s get back to fishing. On my fourth cast – would you believe it – a pelican tangled in my line? Repeat the same scenario. After releasing the bird I could hear Wayne snickering. We gave up on the snook and headed for the bay.
Those two pelican events reminded me of the time years ago while fishing with two friends. One friend was an octogenarian and the other had a debilitating disease that eventually took his life. Fishing was slow and the friend was making an occasional cast but paying no attention. As he made one of his half-hearted casts a pelican flew through his line. When the bird, who was traveling at a good rate of speed, hit the end of the cast it almost jerked the rod out of his hand. Waking up, he yelled, “Got a big one.” He thought he had hooked a fish. Harry and I saw the whole episode and cracked up laughing. But you know who had to get that angry pelican off the hook. Yours, truly!
Many years ago I was fishing a bass tournament on Canyon Lake with the Canyon Bass Club. I was fishing alone. I cast my crank bait a full cast toward some bushes. As I reeled the lure in it snagged on an underwater tree. As I pulled on the line the monofilament stretched more and more. Suddenly, the line came loose and flew through the air. The lure hit me in the face. But the lure didn’t fall to the floor of the boat. It was stuck on my face. One of the treble hooks had buried itself into the flesh under my eye.
I quickly found another member of the club and climbed into his boat for help. He unscrewed the back treble hook from the lure, leaving the hook in my face. Since I was not in too much pain he said, “Now you can still finish the tournament.”
“Forget that,” I said. “I’m going to the doctor’s office.” At the boat ramp, while loading my boat on the trailer, two young girls walked down the ramp. When they saw me, they screamed. They must have thought I was a monster.
Most fishermen have lost a rod or two out of the boat. While living in Pensacola many years ago I often fished just outside the jetties in Pensacola Bay over an old sunken ship named Massachusetts. Lots of big fish, especially King Mackerel, hung out around the ship. While casting for smaller fish I foul hooked a big mullet.
“That’s a great bait,” I said.
I rigged a heavier rod and reel and put the mullet on a big hook with a steel leader. I cast the big bait toward the sunken ship and stuck the rod butt in the splash well of the boat. (I didn’t have a rod holder on the boat.) I was on the boat deck casting a jig for speckled trout when I heard a loud noise. As I turned around I saw the rod in the stern bent over double. As I ran down the boat toward the rod it popped out of the splash well. Just as my hand was almost on the handle the rod went over the outboard engine, flying through the air. I can still see that rod skipping across the surface of the Gulf of Mexico at a high rate of speed. So much for that rod and 6000 Ambassador Reel. It probably ended up in Cuba.
