A Classic Fishing Misadventure

A calm, still fall afternoon. Quietly fishing and mentally escaping everything for a few moments. Sounds idyllic, doesn't it? Well things don't always turn out as planned.

I haven't done much fishing at the cottage this year, and clearly that's the way I should have left things. On Sunday afternoon this past Thanksgiving weekend, the cool air and overcast skies had me thinking this would be good fishing weather.

Using my thirty plus year old fishing rod inherited from my dad, I settle in on the dock and start casting with my usually reliable red devil. After a couple of casts, I feel a solid tug. I catch a glimpse of an impressive bass before he shakes himself off. If I'm going to try to land him again, I would need a bigger lure. I run up to the cottage andto get my large size red devil, change the lure and cast out my line. Sure enough, here he is waiting and ready to do battle with this larger incentive. He puts up a decent fight and after a short struggle, I have him on the dock. About 14 inches long, this is the biggest fish I have caught in the lake yet.

Having accomplished my goal, I set about other chores around the lot. After a while I'm drawn back to the dock where I had left my fishing gear. A classic case of not knowing to quit when you're ahead.

I cast my line to the right. No bite. I cast straight out. No bite. I cast off to the left. Big mistake. The lure,  heavier than the smaller version I usually use, sails over the water and onto the shore into the bush.  Along the water's edge at that point a variety of shrubs extend out from under the trees and over the water. I tug on my line, hoping to break the resistance of the bushes. It only makes things worse and my hook becomes securely embedded inthe tangle of shrubs. After several fruitless minutes of pulling hard and shifting the angle of the rod, I leave my rod on the dock, make my way onto shore, up the bank and down between the bushes where I can reach the lure. I manage to stretch and free it, and try to toss it in the water, only to see it catch another branch. As I can't reach it, I return to the dock hoping this branch won't put up as much resistance and I can pull it free. Back on the dock, I try yanking at different angles. But again, to my great dismay, it only makes it snag firmly in the bush. This time I am determined to use force to free it. I can see the thin branch now holding it looks pretty fragile. Pulling high into the air, I hear my rod snap in two. Uh oh!  Now I'm holding a broken fishing rod, with my lure caught in the bushes on shore. I'm glad no one is watching.

Again I leave my rod on the dock and head up to the porch to don my rubber boots so I can venture into the water from the shore to free the lure again. Now I'm standing in water about a foot deep, pulling back a branch so I can reach the lure out over the lake. As I pull the branch towards me, I hear the worrying sound of "clunk, clunk, splash". I look up to see my broken fishing rod is no longer on the dock. Ripples in the water make it clear what has just happened. Could this possibly get any worse? Well, keep reading...

I start pulling on the fishing line in an attempt to pull the broken fishing rod to shore. I'm puling and pulling, thinking I'm dragging it to shore, then I realize I'm pulling the line out of the reel and the rod is caught on the bottom of the lake. This is 100' of fishing line! I'm trying all at once to hold the branches of the shrubs out of my face, while gathering the line and not catching myself with the three hooks of the lure, which is still in the branches. Finally, I see the rod in two pieces close enough to reach it. I move to my right, pressing against another shrub to grab it. As I pick it up, I hear another worrying sound that tells me this isn't an afternoon that will be remembered for pleasant fishing memories. Hornets! I have disturbed their nest and I see several around my hands. Immediately, I feel a couple of stings, drop everything and head for the hill.

After the pain subsides, determination, or plain idiocy, prompts me to go back to the shore to retrieve the broken rod. I pick up the rod, but I'm not going back into those bushes to reach for the tangled lure. I make my way to the dock, and in a mess of fishing line all about me, I pull with all my might to free that lure. I pull as hard as I can. I feel it break free; JOY! Well, a short lived feeling of satisfaction anyway.  The spoon with three barbed hooks is now flying towards me with great velocity. It's coming right for my face! Instincts kick in and I duck just in time to feel it whiz by my head and splash 5 meters out beyond the dock. Now here's where the story gets interesting...


Now at this pont in the story I could say that I caught a huge fish, but you all know I am NOT ONE TO EXAGGERATE. No, I didn't catch a fish. And I'm sure you can understand that I had enough fun for one afternoon. I gathered in the line, lure and severed rod, quietly set them inside the screened porch and entered the cottage.

From the cottage, Barb had caught glimpses of me through the trees, darting about from the dock to the shore, up the hill and back, fighting the bushes and on and on. Puzzled, she asks "what are you doing out there?" I think for a couple of seconds about how to respond.  Then I settle on: "Oh, nothing".