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 Post subject: crazy times
PostPosted: January 11th, 2011, 8:17 am 
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Joined: June 11th, 2010, 7:43 am
Posts: 1253
Location: kaukauna, wi
bill's post set this one up. thanks bill.

funny moments while fishing. this could go on forever for me, as with you all i'm sure. i'll throw one out for now.

me and my friend were out casting for pike and bass one day. great day all around. warm, no rain, overcast, and the fish were snapping. i put about twenty in the boat the first two hours, but my friend wade was trying for one. he was missing fish constantly, but couldn't get a hookset. finally i looked at his spinnerbait. he never took the little plastic sleeve off the hook point. he's very competitive and we tally points every time we go fishing. we have our own little tournaments. he gets cranky when he's behind, so it made it all the more comical.


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 Post subject: Re: crazy times
PostPosted: January 12th, 2011, 11:53 am 
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Joined: June 11th, 2010, 7:43 am
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Location: kaukauna, wi
c'mon. throw some stories out guys/gals. the least we can do for the fishing forum is post more than the south-central/northwest herp chapters. :sleep: :sleep: :sleep:

it's cold and boring here in wisconsin. let me live vicariously for a few more months.


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 Post subject: Re: crazy times
PostPosted: January 12th, 2011, 7:20 pm 
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Joined: June 7th, 2010, 7:08 pm
Posts: 542
Location: Montana
Okay Muskie, I'll try. Actually I could go on forever on this subject, but here's one.

I took a client/friend fishing, who likes to play the tough guy macho man a little to much for me, fishing down the Stillwater River, (a tributary to the Yellowstone), and it has a few class 4 rapids on it.
He was standing up in the front of raft fishing and having a pretty good day too, which made his bravado macho alter-ego come out in force. Truthfully he was driving me nuts w/ all his boasting of how good a fly-fisherman he has become. :x
We came up to the first set of class 4 rapids, which is imposing to see and has a number of crashing waves across the whole river, he sat down quickly as we neared the drop off, which is about a 6 foot drop. There is only one spot in this rapid that will let a raft through and it kind of hides in the waves as you come up to it. I hovered the raft on the top of the rapids lip just before the drop off a little longer then I wanted, trying to hit the line through the rapid just right. When our protagonist in this story turns around to me and says, in a complete panic filled high pitched voice, much like a little girl. "Jesus Christ Dell, are we going to make it through this?" But it really sounded more like this,"JesusChristDellarewegoingtomakeitthroughthis?!!!!!!!!", because he said it as fast as he could.
Before I could answer we dropped into the slot of the rapid and as we splashed through the slot he took a big wave right in the chest, which made him scream out in fear.

I was laughing so hard I about pissed myself. He started accusing me of scaring him on purpose, which made me laugh even more. To this day when I run in to him I'll say
"JesuschristDellarewegoingtomakeitthroughthis?" Then he tells me I'm a jerk. Which I might be. :mrgreen:

-Dell
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 Post subject: Re: crazy times
PostPosted: January 12th, 2011, 8:17 pm 
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Joined: June 11th, 2010, 7:43 am
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Location: kaukauna, wi
you're not a jerk, you just tell it how it is. thanks for the reply as well as a good laugh before i go to bed.

-ben


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 Post subject: Re: crazy times
PostPosted: January 16th, 2011, 9:12 pm 
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Joined: June 7th, 2010, 7:08 pm
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Location: Montana
Here's another funny thing:

Years ago I was floating the Stillwater river w/ a couple of buddies, and while pulled over fishing I found an old net. One of those cheap nylon nets you can buy for under $10.00 bucks. It had been in the river for a long time, and the netting was completely gone, it was beat up, dented, and a little rusty, but the metal bar and handle were still intact.
While I was looking at the old net-less net, one of my friends yells over that he has hooked a big trout, and asks one of us if we could bring him a net. I ran over and handed him the old net, he grabbed the handle and was like WTF is this? He threw it behind him, and landed a pretty nice Rainbow, and after releasing the bow he proceeded to cuss me out for handing him a net-less net, and how he could have lost the trout because of what I did. The two of us that didn't catch a trout just laughed at him, and teased him in good natured humor.

I didn't notice but when we pulled up anchor to continue our float, my friend that had caught the Rainbow had grabbed the old net and had stuffed it into my gear bag in the raft. When I got home and unloaded my gear into my gear room I found the old net. I chuckled over the gag, and decided to ship it back to him via UPS with a note that said, "You should keep this, you might need it again."

Well it's 12 years later and that net is still being passed off to each other on fishing trips in one creative way after another. The old net has made it to Brazil, Russia, Alaska, Florida Keys, Louisiana, and Kentucky. It's kinda like a hot potato now, you don't want to be the one w/ the net, and you try and get rid of it as soon as possible.
It's gotten a little more beat up but it still has it's old charm. Here it is.

Image

The buddy that originally stuffed the net in my gear bag just got re-married two days ago, and guess what he got for a wedding gift. :lol:
He'll never admit he has it though, and I'll have to watch out in case it comes back to me again.

-Dell


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 Post subject: Re: crazy times
PostPosted: January 17th, 2011, 4:37 pm 
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Location: kaukauna, wi
Dell, that's a sweet story. gotta love traditions.

my turn.

again, fishing with wade. very windy day, and wade gets a monster birdnest in his baitcaster. as i'm giving him a hard time, i realized no one was paying attention to how close we were getting to a very rocky shoreline. i suggested i kick in the outboard considering we were still in three feet of water, but no, wade does not want to take a chance with the prop on his brand new boat. as a quick side-bar, he insists on having a stainless prop even though i told him aluminum is safer for the lower unit if you hit a rock. anyhow, "no" he said, "i'll use the troller." at this point something had to happen quickly, so he stood up and turned on the troller full blast. the line hanging in the water from his tangle wraped around the prop and yanked his spinnerbait right into the palm of his hand. he fell on his ass screaming. i had no idea what happened at the time, so i start yelling at him to get the boat away from shore. a lot of blood and cussing ensued and we managed to not hit the shore. i fired up the outboard and made it out without any rock mishaps. luckily for wade, he got the troller shut down before the barb went in. aaahhhh! the stories wade makes happen. wade is the friend who seems to just get stupid. i love him dearly.

one more non fishing related that will give you insight to wade.

back in the high school days, we were addicted to tacobell. chili cheese burritos aka chilitos back then. well, it took wade about two years to figure out that you should eat it from the open end. it was a fifty/fifty shot whether he was going to wind up pondering why "this one" wasn't messy or he would end up with one hell of a mess all over himself. good times i tell you.

-ben


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 Post subject: Re: crazy times
PostPosted: January 18th, 2011, 8:04 am 
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Joined: June 7th, 2010, 7:08 pm
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Location: Montana
:lol: :lol: :lol: :lol: :lol: :lol: Good one Ben.
I'm glad to hear Wade didn't get the spinner bait imbedded in his hand past the barb. He sounds like one of my buddies, smart enough guy, but always seems to make at least one bad decision on a fishing trip, which is always good for a laugh.

-Dell


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 Post subject: Re: crazy times
PostPosted: January 19th, 2011, 3:33 am 
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Joined: June 7th, 2010, 6:28 am
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Location: FL Keys
Dell, great story about the net tradition. I spent 350+ days on the water for almost 15 years...yes, I have some stories.

Here's one from wayyy back when I was growing up in WI.

I think it was early 80's. Me and two of my friends had spent a warmish, early November day chasing Muskies on Lower Buckatabon (sp?) lake near Woodruff. Fishing was slow but the Walleye bite turned on at dusk. It was snowing pretty good with those first giant, slow snowflakes of the year and was relatively warm out so we kept at it after dark. We were fishing jigs in almost 35 feet of water and having fun. One of my friends had started drinking (among other early-80's liberalties) and had layed down in the bottom of the old Lund just before dusk. When it began to snow, I threw a Filson over him and my other friend and I continued fishing, forgetting all about poor Clarke. At some point after full dark, he began to stir and stood up. I said "Clarke, you're alive!!" To which he replied "I'm going to the living room" and stepped right over the side! In 35 feet of water, after dark, in a snow storm!! Holy shot!

He was down for at least 15 of the longest seconds of my life and I'd already stripped down to my longies...not really knowing what the hell I was gonna do, but knowing I had to do SOMETHING. I was just about to go into the water after him when he resurfaced right next to the boat, holding his glasses to his face. I'll never forget how relieved I was to see him come back up on that cold, dark night. We hauled his ass aboard, took him to an island we were near, built him a big fire, gave him some dry clothes and went fishing for another hour or so but the bite had turned off.

I asked him about it later and he simply said "I touched bottom and pushed back up..."
Crazy/scary at the time; funny now.

I've got a ton more.


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 Post subject: Re: crazy times
PostPosted: January 19th, 2011, 3:43 pm 
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yeah, i'd say scary at the time, especially when he didn't "get it" right away. that's awesome.

not really a funny story, just good competition.

AGAIN!! me and wade. we don't get a whole lot of time in the boat together now that we have priorities(sucks getting old), but when we do, we have "tournaments". on the drive to whichever lake/river we will be fishing, we assign point values to specific fish based on abundance. carp or other "trash fish" are usually negative points. the fish has to be in the boat, so if the score is close, we usually root for the fish being lost at boatside. bonus points can be granted by the other if the fish is of quality size. this does not happen if the score is close, usually to the dismay of the catcher.

a few close races.

one night we were tit-for-tat on hammer-handle pike(one point). it was getting very dark, but we kept at it. no one wanted to go home the loser. i was up by one for a while when the pike finally shut down. wade wanted to keep fishing. i stopped. i was ready to go home. he stayed out for about an hour more just trying to win. on the "last cast", he pulls in a three inch bass. unfortunately for me, bass are two points. it is his boat, and he trumped me by saying he had to get going. BIG FAT JERK.

one other time we were even all day long, and decided to head up the wolf river. he pulled out his fly rod, and proceeded to spank me by catching smallmouth. i couldn't catch a thing. he was up by thirteen. the day disappearing, and we had to get off the water. on the way down the river, i asked if we could stop so i could take a few casts on a nice corner of an emergent weedline. i had raised a fish a week ago at this spot. topwater. walk the dog. even wade(who, smugly, was content with his thirteen point lead) said, "nice cast". three twitches into it, and a twenty pound muskie clears the water with my bait in it's mouth. no net and no camera, but who cares when you win by two points.

ben


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 Post subject: Re: crazy times
PostPosted: January 19th, 2011, 4:36 pm 
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Joined: July 30th, 2010, 10:48 am
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Location: KY: Woodford Co.
These are great! Please keep it up.

I don't have any embarrassing stories about my fishing buddys, but my fishing buddys have a few... :oops:


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 Post subject: Re: crazy times
PostPosted: January 20th, 2011, 2:52 am 
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Joined: June 7th, 2010, 6:28 am
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Location: FL Keys
A friend and I had a tradition for years down here in the Keys.
Whenever we had someone else along while fishing, we'd pulled up to a flat and "flip" a pair of fingernail clippers for "first shot."
While I was trimming up the engine, he'd say: "call it in the air" and I'd choose tails. They'd go clattering across the deck, we'd both look down at them and I'd say: "Dammit...them things are rigged!! You're up."
My friend would then put them on the steering counsel. It never failed that at some point during the day, you'd see the other person covertly pick them up and try to figure out just how the hell we got heads or tails out of a stupid pair of clippers. Nobody ever asked, and we never told.

My friend eventually moved away...and took the clippers with him.


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 Post subject: Re: crazy times
PostPosted: January 20th, 2011, 2:25 pm 
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Location: Montana
Finger nail clippers? huh. Sometime strange rituals come out of fishing trips.

My best fishing buddy, Todd, and I started playing a game we came up with called Schmuck.
We always have two rods w/ us of course, but often when Fly-Fishing you'll find one trout up eating dry flies floating down to it. Or a small pod of fish feeding together and only enough room for one angler to cast.

Schmuck goes like this: Using only one rod, the angler gets to cast to the rising fish as many times as he can until he hooks and lands the fish. But if the angler makes a bad cast of any kind you're Schmucked and out, and the other person gets to fish the rod to the fish. Catch a bush, or tree in your casting you're Schmucked, throw a tailing loop you're Schmucked, and you have to hand over the rod, any small mistake that causes a tangle and you're Schmuck.
If you're a perfect caster you love this game, but how many of us are perfect casters? It's really pretty fun.

We have one friend, Rob, that took second at an Orivs casting competition, not the how far can you cast competition, but the hit the target competition. They got three tries to hit the targets, and he nearly won, he's a humble guy, and the first time playing Schmuck really brought out his competitive side though.

Rob: Casting to a feeding trout, and the wind blew his cast into the grass.

Todd: Schmuck! You're out. Dell you're up.

Rob: What do you mean I'm out? The wind blew me into the grass, it wasn't my fault.

Todd: Yep, you're Schmucked. Hand over the rod.

Rob: But I didn't...

Todd: Schmucked! This isn't like casting on the lawn at the Orivs competition, this is Schmuck fishing and you're Schmucked, hand over the rod.

Rob: Oh come on, one more try?

Me: Gimme the rod Schmuck, you're Schmucked.

Rob: One bad cast and you're out? Dam, I like this Schmuck. I'm going to kill you guys at this.

Me: Well good luck with that, but you are head Schmuck now. Hand me the rod.

That was about 15 years ago and Rob still likes playing Schmuck.

-Dell, aka Schmuck. :)


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 Post subject: Re: crazy times
PostPosted: January 21st, 2011, 12:47 pm 
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Joined: June 7th, 2010, 8:23 am
Posts: 2251
Location: Unicoi, TN
These are all great... Keep them coming...
.
.
A few years ago, my oldest grandson was six, and I was teaching him to cast plugs for bass with a spincast. Like most beginners, he was more sidearm than overhead.
It wasn't but a moment that I realized a hidden hazard, he was left handed.
I changed the reel's orientation and forced myself to remember to stand to his right.
.
.
Later that day, we returned to the lake and he was excited to show his uncle, my son, how he could lay out a 3 1/2 inch Rapala.
I was 50 feet away and didn't think, and didn't yell, soon enough.
Sure enough, my son stood to his nephew's left (safest place for a "right handed" beginner), and I spent the next 5 minutes after digging treble hooks out of my son's back with hemostats (in between me cackling with laughter)!!!!


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 Post subject: Re: crazy times
PostPosted: January 21st, 2011, 6:45 pm 
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Location: kaukauna, wi
sucks for him, but good for everyone else. sorry if i'm not sympathetic. i have yet to be hooked. until then, i will laugh.

i've got two more.

as young kids we fished in front of a big dam. the tailraces were great places for many fish. in fact, we caught eleven species in one day. we used to fish with cheap ultralight rods, and mr. twisters were the bait of choice. overhand casts were best to place the bait in the right place along the dam. unfortunately, that put the lead-head close to your head. those "whippy" rods really put some mustard on the mr. twisters. i'll tell you, a sixteen-ounce ball of lead(oops, sixteenth of an ounce, took me a while) in the back of your head hurts like h*ll.

one more. this one hits home. it involves my grandpa, who was the only one who appreciated my passion for the outdoors. OK, maybe more than one. as i type, i am blasted by many wonderful memories of my grandfather. he was a confident, trustworthy man, and if i can be even close to what he was when i am older, i will consider myself a success in life.

when i was about eight, i was over at their place for the night. at that time, i was allowed to roam the riverbanks by myself. when i returned for dinner, i reeled my mepps up to the tip of the rod, and left it along the railing by the door. just for reflection, my grandpa always called it a french spinner. a bit after dark, my g-pa came in saying that i had to go home. he drove me home with the mepps #2 stuck in his nose. he was on his way to the hospital. i gave him a coffee mug for christmas that had a guy with a hook in his nose. :D :D

probably around the same age. my grandparents took me up to the cottage in northern wisconsin for the weekend. he took me out trout fishing the next day. my grandpa had this old-school telescoping metal fly rod he used. he gave it to me just before he died. thanks gramps. anyhow, he fished these tiny spring-fed creeks no more than two feet wide, with grass growing over them. one would never know they were there. he lost a few brookies, but didn't land any. i was too busy jumping around catching frogs and gartersnakes to care about the fishing. grandpa was mad cause i was spooking his trout. finally, we went to another spot and he made me sit down. he handed me the creel and told me i was in charge of putting the fish away. he showed me how to line the creel with grass, and also, how to get it wet. i was ready. all i remember was feeling like i had a purpose, and him leaning over the tag alder. in the next twenty minutes we had our limit of sixteen inch brook trout. my grandpa fished with that metal rod, a sinker, and a worm. he was smart enough to know where no one else was fishing. c'mon, sixteens from two feet wide. my grandfather was one of the best. i miss him.

after my grandma died, he was just hanging in there. i respect him for being ready to go. he knew he did everything the best that he knew how, and he was good with that. there is something to be said for that. the last time i saw him, i came home from minnesota to see him. i told him that i loved him, and that i would make it back as soon as i could to see him. he said, " i know, but i may not be around ", in his laughing, semi-serious way. i said, " i know grandpa ". i hugged him and said goodbye. those were the last words i ever said to him, but they mean so much to me now. he was an amazing man. i wish i had had the frame of mind that i do now. he was a simple person. i got too caught up with the crap of this world for way too long. i wish i had been on his wavelength while he was still alive. don't get me wrong, the time i had was awesome, and i would never want to even think about expecting anything else.

-ben


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 Post subject: Re: crazy times
PostPosted: January 26th, 2011, 9:06 am 
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Location: Montana
Okay, Years ago I was floating & fishing the Yellowstone river w/ my fishing buddies Todd, and Mike. We floated a section of the Yellowstone from Mayors Landing put in, to a take out called Sheep Mountain. Mayors Landing starts right in the town of Livingston, and Sheep Mountains take out is 12 miles or so down river, and out of town, and off an old dirt road. Not much around there but cattle and a few ranch houses.

Here in Montana there are a number of outfits that you can call, and pay to drive your vehicle to the take out, so your vehicle is at the take out when you float in. We called this lady who does this type of work, and who I've used many times before. Her name is Tootsie. "Hi Tootsie it's Dell we're going to float from Mayors Landing to Sheep Mountain today, keys in the gas cap. Okay Dell sounds good." Easy as that.

We fished all day and into the late evening, when we came to the take out it was pitch black. I grabbed my keys and went to get my old Jeep Cherokee to load the drift boat on to the trailer and head home. Well, I walk up to the dirt parking lot and there isn't a car in sight, nothing. Sh!t. WTF? I go back and tell Todd and Mike that our shuttle didn't make it here, and we agree that I should walk over to the nearest farm house and ask to use the phone. (This was before cell phones became so popular, and even now we don't get coverage at that take out.)
I make the long walk in my waders to the farm house to ask if I can use the phone. I get to the door and knock, and when I knock on the door, the whole house erupts w/ barking dogs, it sounds like a dam dog kennel in there. A lady that looks to be in her forties answers the door dressed in full tie-dye, and a nose ring. She has 10 or more Mexican Chihuahuas behind her, that I can see, barking their heads off. Remember this is rural Montana, we don't see a lot of tie-dye here, or Chihuahuas for that matter. I'm thinking to myself "Okayyy, this is kinda weird."
But she's nice enough, and lets me use her phone when I tell her that we didn't get our shuttle to take our boat out with. She's like oh sure come on in, and I point out that I'm in my waders and boots which have dirt and crap on them. So she brings me the phone, and when she opens the door further I can see many more Chihuahuas in the house, still barking at me I might add.

I call Tootsie, to ask where the hell is my Jeep Cherokee is, and only get her answering machine. GAAAA. I leave a message, and call back again, same thing, answering machine. Dam.

I tell tie-dye lady that I can't get through to anyone, and I think my shuttle driver forgot to do our shuttle,and that I don't know what to do now. She says, "oh, well my daughter could give you a ride back to Livingston." I say that would be really nice, and thank you so much.
She leaves to go get her daughter, and I'm standing there w/ all these Chihuahuas still barking at me. I start to glance around the place and look in the living room, there is a woman sitting on the couch w/ four or five Chihuahuas that I didn't see before. She looks like Rosie O'donnell in Carhartt jeans, a bikini top, and logging boots on. I say hi, but she doesn't respond to me at all. Maybe she doesn't hear me because the dogs are still upset and barking.
Meanwhile tie-dye comes back w/ her daughter. Her daughter is like 26, or 27 and is completely gorgeous. She says that she'd be glad to give me a ride back to Livingston to get my vehicle.
We walk out to her Jeep Wrangler and get in. She lights a cigarette, starts the Jeep up, and cranks up Hells Bells by AC/DC, and down the road we go. I ask her how many Chihuahuas they have at the house and her answer back to me is 40. I'm like wow, that's a lot of dogs, she says, yeah, I hate em.
Then she taps my leg, and says, "So you married?" I answer that I am. She asks where I live, I say in Billings. She says, "Oh. Well I just moved here from LA to live w/ my mom for a while. I used to be a stripper, and my mom thinks I need to find something else to do. I think I'm going to try modeling." I say I think she might have a good chance at modeling because she's beautiful, but that Livingston Montana might not be a good modeling base to work from. She agrees w/ me, and then says, "Hey do you want to stop and get a beer?" I answer back. "Aaaa, well I'm kinda still in my waders, and my buddies are waiting for me to get back w/ the truck." She's like, "Oh, yeah. It's probably for the best, I shouldn't be drinking beer while I'm on Prozac anyway." "Huh, aaa… yeah probably not good."

We get to the put in and sure enough there's my Cherokee, Tootsie never did our shuttle. I say thanks for the ride to the former stripper, she says no problem, any time. I get in my Cherokee and drive back to Sheep Mountain, and my waiting friends. I back the trailer down the steep dirt ramp at Sheep Mountain, which is one of the worst ramps on the Yellowstone, with big river rocks, and dirt and mud the whole 10 yards of the ramp. We load the boat up on the trailer, and go to pull out, and get stuck. I stick the Cherokee in 4 wheel drive, nothing, try sticking the 4 wheel drive in again, nothing. I can't get the 4 wheel drive to engage, we're stuck.
GAAAA! I ask myself, why does God hate me?

Back up to the farm house, still in my waders I might add, to ask Tie-dye and her stripper daughter if I can use there phone again to call a tow truck now. I knock on the door, the dogs erupt again, and Tie-dye answers the door, and I tell her we're stuck in the ramp now and I need to call a tow truck. She says, "oh no, to bad for you, yeah of course you can use the phone again." I have to borrow her phone book, to find the tow truck, and while I'm looking up the number Carhartt Rosie O'donnell comes up to me and says, "I can tow you out, I've got a 4 wheel drive van, my husband and I have been building a cabin and I have chains in the back of the van." I'm like, "Hum, (scratch my head) okay, gee thanks."

Everybody gets in the van, Tie-dye mom, Stripper daughter, three little rat dogs, me and Carhartt Rosie. When we drive up to the ramp Carhartt Rosie jumps out, Tie-dye, Stripper daughter, rat dogs, jump out. Two, dogs are running under the Cherokee, one dog is being held by the Stripper. Todd asks me where I found all these people. Carhartt won't let any of us help with putting the chains on, she does it all, hooks up the Cherokee to her van and pops us off the ramp, Cherokee, and boat, no problem. She never even asked where the dogs were.
Mike goes to take the chains off the vehicles, and Carharrt Rosie jumps out of her van, and pretty much pushes Mike out of the way, and takes the chains from him, and unhooks everything herself. Mike says, "I've got this." and Rosie says. "No you don't, you're taking to long." Which get's a snicker out of Todd and I.

Mean while Tootsie comes driving up, and is falling over herself apologizing to us for forgetting to do our shuttle. Carhartt, Tie-dye, and Stripper daughter jump back in the van, and I yell after them thanks, Carhartt sticks her arm out the window in a wave. Meanwhile Tootsie is pushing $25 dollars at me, telling me she feels terrible about forgetting to do the shuttle. I tell her I understand and that sometimes sh!t happens, and she can just do my next shuttle for free. She agrees to this plan, and off she goes down the road.

As Tootsie drives down the dirt road, Todd says, "need a beer?" Yes, I do, but first get me out of these waders. As we're getting beer out of the boat, and I'm taking off my waders, one of the Chihuahuas come running up. I say out loud, "Oh, for Gods sake this night is never going to end." No sooner after I say this, and Carhartts van comes driving up, Tie-dye steps out laughing, and says, "We forgot Pearl, come on Pearl, come on." She picks up Pearl and off they go.

On the ride home I tell Todd and Mike about all that they'd missed. After I tell them what I went through, Mike says, "Only in Montana, man. Only in Montana." Todd says, "That stripper was cute." And we all busted up laughing.

-Dell
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 Post subject: Re: crazy times
PostPosted: January 28th, 2011, 9:57 am 
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Joined: June 11th, 2010, 7:43 am
Posts: 1253
Location: kaukauna, wi
dell, that sounds like a night from hell. at least you can laugh about it now.


here's one that doesn't directly involve me, but it's funny to me and i'll share it.

as young adults, we always spent time on the water. mostly just running around on the winnebago system. lake winnebago is a huge body of water. about thirty miles long by about fifteen wide. it's fed by the wolf and fox rivers. from the big lake, you can run up into lake butte des morts and lake poygan. from there you can run the wolf for another twenty miles. my friend kurt always made fun of me for bringing my "suitcase" along every time. not a suitcase, but a big pack filled with food, water, long pants, sweatshirts, and a jacket. "it's ninety degrees, what the heck you bringing all that for? we need the room for beer and girls!" well, one day kurt and eric made a wolf river run. across the big lake, through the two smaller lakes, and up the river to new london. it's a long haul. they partied all day, and finall hit the big lake after dark. as soon as they got out into 'bago, they ran out of gas. at that time of night, there is not much you can do except hope you run into some late-night walleye fishermen. luck was not on their side that night. they spent the night drifting aimlessly in rough water and unfortunately there was a big lake fly hatch that same night. kurt explained to me how he spent the night puking and shivering on the floor of the boat while covered in lake flies. his last remark was this, "all i could do was wish i had your "suitcase". i haven't spoken to him in years, but i'm sure now he goes prepared.


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 Post subject: Re: crazy times
PostPosted: January 28th, 2011, 2:56 pm 
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Suitcase. That's funny.
Ben I get where you're coming from, I tend to over pack if I'm using a boat. Better safe then sorry. I gotta say I feel for you're buddies, that night sounded miserable.

BillMcGighan wrote:
I spent the next 5 minutes digging treble hooks out of my son's back with hemostats

I started twitching after reading this story. OUCH! In the back, in the BAACK.

-Dell


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 Post subject: Re: crazy times
PostPosted: January 28th, 2011, 7:41 pm 
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i was going to UW Stevens Point at the time. it was finals week in the spring semester. i had just gotten out of my biology final and decided to do a bit of trout fishing on the tomorrow river just east of Amherst, Wisconsin. there used to be a wayside off of highway 10 that i liked to fish by. the wayside is no longer there, but you can drive into the grass if you want to fish. i parked on the east end of the asphalt, and walked to the bridge. i've caught a few small browns downstream of the bridge in the past, and this day was no different. as i walked upstream of the bridge i came upon a small hole concealed by over-hanging branches. i caught a few more low-teens browns and kept going. i had not packed my "walking shoes" for the day, and i decided to take the "easy road". there is a long narrow strip of sand that had washed in over time behind an emergent rock. being barefoot, i walked in the sand. it felt better than the surrounding rock. i got up to the head of the sand finger, and i noticed a snapping turtle shell turned upside down in the sand. i pulled it up, and realized is was a pelvis. not a turtle shell, but hips. there was meat still attached on the backside, and one of the femurs was sawed off at a 90 degree angle. OK, highway, how 'bout roadkill deer? why would somebody butcher a deer without taking the hind quarters? anyhow, didn't make much sense to me. one other point is that there was no hair on the meat. hair lasts longer than flesh! i went across the highway to an old farmhouse(which is no longer there) and asked to use the phone. the woman at the house was outside with her kids at the time and she asked me if anything was wrong. i told her i may have found part of a body in the river. she looked at me in an interesting manner, and just handed me the phone. i called the police, and was met by a "suit" in about twenty minutes. i showed him the remains, which were still out on the small sand bar. he asked if i could bring them closer. i tried to get it over to him with a stick, but just grabbing it was the easiest. gross, i know. turns out that there was no positive ID, other than adult female over twenty-one. there was definitely dismemberment involved. sort of creepy. to this day it has never been solved. through this, i have had my fifteen minutes. i was known as "a fisherman" by the media for the next few weeks. as sick and funny as it is, i took a lot of crap from the boys. "why didn't you bring it back? you could have had a piece of ass whenever you wanted!"

there's one of my best.

-ben


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 Post subject: Re: crazy times
PostPosted: January 28th, 2011, 8:43 pm 
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muskiemagnet wrote:
sort of creepy.

Sort of creepy??
Sort of creepy is having a red neck walk in to your camp w/ a gun on his hip, shoot the sh!t w/ you for a while then leave. Or a 70 year old lady putting the moves on you at a bar.
Finding a chopped up dead woman-DUDE! Completely creepy.

Ben, once I figured out where you were going w/ this story I was riveted to my chair. Incredible.
You've got some sick mother fockers for friends, I could never crack a joke about that. :shock:

I have a friend that found a dead guy floating face down in a big back eddy on the Clark fork near Missoula, MT. God I hope that never happens to me.

Okay Ben, your next fishing story, you've gotta lighten up a bit. Your second to last story brought a tear to my eye, and this one scared me.


-Dell


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 Post subject: Re: crazy times
PostPosted: January 29th, 2011, 8:20 am 
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E-e-e-e-w-w-w-w
OK Ben, You're getting cabin fever, boy...
You got to get out in the sunshine... :lol: :lol: :lol:
Of course, Catfishing may have been good downstream!!
:roll: :roll:
.
.

I had to do a week of work just north of where you were in Rhinelander in April, and packed for cold water species: trout, pike etc. Living then in Florida made me excited to get to cold water species after years of warm.
What I stumbled on was a small lake where the large-mouth bass were in their pre-spawn feeding frennzy.
It was only a day, but it was filled with non-stop action of both small-mouth and large-mouth.
.
.
.
Dell,
I wouldn't ask you to do this now, but if you ever give up your summer guiding service, I just know you have got to have some great "Dumbass Client" stories.


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 Post subject: Re: crazy times
PostPosted: January 29th, 2011, 9:10 am 
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yeah, maybe i do have a bit of cabin fever. sick as it may be, it's still my best story.

i promise my next one will be filled with sunshine, lollipops, rainbows, and smiles.


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 Post subject: Re: crazy times
PostPosted: January 29th, 2011, 12:34 pm 
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muskiemagnet wrote:
sick as it may be, it's still my best story.

Oh it's show stopper for sure. :)
BillMcGighan wrote:
Dell,
I wouldn't ask you to do this now, but if you ever give up your summer guiding service, I just know you have got to have some great "Dumbass Client" stories.

Bill I've got a few......Like a few hundred! I'll work on some and change the names to protect the guilty. :lol:

-Dell


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 Post subject: Re: crazy times
PostPosted: January 31st, 2011, 6:42 am 
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Great stories you guys. Dell I've got one involving two strippers, a bottle of Captain Morgan's and a cow pasture full of mushrooms on a muggy summer night outside of El Jobean, FL. Sadly, no fish, so I'll offer up this instead...


A friend and I were going trout fishing one day many years ago in Central WI. On the way, we drove past a road killed skunk. We were both putting ourselves through school via trapping at the time and since a buried skunk was one of the best deep winter fox sets, we argued about who's it was and how we'd transport it to a set-site. (If you bury a skunk, nothing will bother it until the snow is deep and picken's are slim towards the end of the trapping season. Then, the foxes will smell it through the snow/frozen ground and begin digging...hopefully to encountered a well placed double-spring.)
In any event, Randy won the arguement on the sole reasoning we were in his vehicle. It was an old Opal Cadet that had seen it's better days but still ran like a top. We often referred to it as the "Kadent." R had a box of double ply, heavy duty trash bags so we slipped the skunk into one and tied it off. We then slipped this bag into another and again tied it off. The third bag, we figured should seal it good. Satisfied, we then continued and went fishing. (I forget how we did.) I vaguely remember "smelling skunk" when I got back to the Kadent that eve but thought nothing of it and we stopped at a local tavern on the way home. I ordered a couple beers and the bartender asked if I'd been sprayed by a skunk...and before we'd had our third beer, people were telling us we should go outside because the smell was bothering them. I knew we smelled a "little", but enough to get kicked out of a rural tavern? In WI in the early 80's?! Must've been serious. When we got back in the vehicle it smelled far stronger than we'd thought so we drove home with no more stops.
The next morning I got a call from Randy. He wanted me to follow him to a field where he was gonna park the car, roll down the windows, open the doors, disconnect the battery and leave it there for "awhile" till it aired out. Summer turned into fall; it still stunk. Fall turned into winter; it still stunk. Then the big snows came and the poor little Kadent was there for the duration. Windows and doors wide open. No prob, "we'll get it when the ground dries out after spring thaw..." Well, that time came and it smelled just as bad as it did the previous winter so we thought "just a little while longer..." (There were actually fox tracks around it after the season closed and snow was still deep.) :lol:
It never did completely stop stinking and eventually became a landmark. eg "Turn right on county trunk WW, go past the car with the open doors and hang your first left on 130th. Follow it to the end...."

I left Wisconsin a couple years later, but before I did, I went fishing one last time nearby, and it was still there...like a non-shimmering beacon to lost and wayward travelers. I'll be back there this spring and will make it a point to do drive-by and look for remains...on my way to go fish.

Tim


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 Post subject: Re: crazy times
PostPosted: January 31st, 2011, 4:02 pm 
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tim, something tells me that "only in wisconsin" is a good reply to that.

wade picked me up from school for a weekend of fishing. this was actually a few days after the body-part incident. as a side note, we met our friend kevin in the lot. he was coming back from la crosse for the weekend, and we met to say hello. turns out kevin was going through a "phase". he decided to shave his entire body. EVERYTHING! no hair left. eyebrows, eyelashes, everything. kevin is an odd duck. the only thing fishing related from kevin was the fact that he had a twenty-nine inch brown in a cooler that he was getting mounted. what a fish! it came from a small stream and not the great lakes.

after our chat, we hit the road. the destination for the day/night was the willow flowage. we fished the rest of the day and camped on an island for the night. i'm not sure if we even caught anything. i don't remember, so it must not have been that good. we went over to squirrel lake for the remainder of the time. we fished all day, and caught some decent pike and a bunch of big smallies. it was our best day muskie fishing ever!!!!!! we boated about twenty. unfortunately they were all fingerlings that we caught on jigs while fishing for bass. the motor had been running rough the whole time. it just seemed "off". as we headed into a new drift, we ran out of gas. after switching tanks, we were planning on getting some of the larger muskies that we had raised during the first drift. there was a front coming in, and we were getting pretty excited. so the tank was changed, and we started getting into position. PPFFFFFTTT!!!!! the motor just quit. try as we might, no go. we trolled to the nearest shore, and hitch-hiked our way back to the landing. squirrel lake has it out for us. i can remember at least four times that we needed a jump or a tow. this day, we were done. we had no idea what the problem was, and wade's dad brought the boat in. three weeks later, i asked if the motor was running. the answer was no. finally, someone got smart, and the boat was ready for pick-up. the bill was not all that expensive, and that was surprising for how long it took to figure out. les (wade's dad) went in to pick it up. "what was the problem?" the answer, "you can't run diesel fuel, it doesn't work!" his dad had topped of the first tank(explanation for running rough), and filled the other. les was known as "daddy diesel" for a while after that.


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 Post subject: Re: crazy times
PostPosted: February 1st, 2011, 10:55 am 
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Skunk Story :lol: :lol: :lol: :lol: :lol:
(I have a herp skunk story for another part of the forum!)

.
Boat story ...
Nothing kills a trip mentally faster than boat troubles, and even more so when they are sort of self inflicted. We've all done it.
.
.
Since Wisconsin seems to be a focal point... Not a funny story, but memorable.

I had to work for a week in the Blue River part of Wisc, west of Madison.
I printed a very nice DNR map that showed known trout streams.
The problem was it didn't show the roads to get there!!!!
I had a road map, but it didn't show smaller farm roads necesarry to get to the creeks.

I stopped on a pullout on a major road and was carefully matching up streams with roads as best I could, when a county deputy pulled up to see all was well.
I explained my problem.

From the patrol car, the deputy grabbed a pile of maps that had details of this county and surrounding counties.
He then awarded all to maps to me and helped match creeks with locations on the roads, marking them with a sharpie.

....... Good folks up there ......


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 Post subject: Re: crazy times
PostPosted: February 1st, 2011, 11:43 am 
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Quote:
He then awarded all to maps to me and helped match creeks with locations on the roads, maring them with a sharpie.
....... Good folks up there ......

:thumb:



I'll toss out another as soon as I remember one.
Ben, never knew you went to UWSP too. And by the way, I'm awfully familiar with the stretch of the Tomorrow river you talked about. Mostly tho, I fished after dark, either up or down at the supper club when I was in that neighborhood. Great story. (I missed it somehow. My bad.)

BTW, the pretty little hippy chicks that Amherst routinely turned out were (IMO) the greatest girls in all of WI. :mrgreen:


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 Post subject: Re: crazy times
PostPosted: February 2nd, 2011, 9:57 am 
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BillMcGighan wrote:
Nothing kills a trip mentally faster than boat troubles


Oh man, when I worked in Brazil(there was only two times that we had boat trouble when I was there) one of our guides came in from fishing complaining that his boat wasn't running very well. So we played w/ it for a couple of hours until it was running smooth (changing the spark plug seemed to really help it run smooth, I think we changed the fuel tank too).
The next day a couple of English guys go fishing w/ this guide, who doesn't speak english, and about 4 o'clock it broke down on them back in the jungle.
It get's dark there at 6 o'clock, and if our boys aren't back by 6, we know we have a problem, and need to go looking for them.
The guides have their own zones, and work the same zone every day, the zone is very large, but at least we know where to start if they don't make it back by 6, and it's just a matter of time before we find the missing anglers.

When we find the guide, his two Brits are mad as hornets, and( I believe) scared that they'd thought they were spending the night in the jungle.
One of them starts yelling at me as we're working on the motor.
"This is unacceptable! Unacceptable! This should never ever happen. Ever!"

I said, "Well, I disagree this can occur, and it's happened. Do you own a car?"
"Yes of course I own a car."
I said, "Your car never brakes down? Suck it up and enjoy the adventure. We'll get you back in time for a late dinner and cocktails, and you'll be fishing tomorrow."

Before this incident the Brits were fawning over how great the fishing & lodge was, after the boat incident they never stopped bitching, the water was to cold in the shower, the fishing wasn't as good as the Seychelles, the guides didn't speak english, and these next two complaints I'll never forget. "The food isn't as good as we would have hoped." Coming from a Brit, I found that to be a laughable critique, Brits aren't known for their culinary advancements. I mean come on, Bangers and Mash, Toad in the hole, Spotty dick, Fish'n chips. They were the ONLY group to complain about the food when I worked there.
And my favorite complaint from them, "we haven't seen many animals would you send us in an area with more animals, we'd like to see a Jaguar." :roll: That one still makes me smile when I think of it. :lol: I think they watched one to many David Attenborough's, Life Series. You just walk up and start filming a Jaguar, right, that's all it takes isn't it?

-Dell
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 Post subject: Re: crazy times
PostPosted: February 3rd, 2011, 5:39 am 
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In central WI, outside of the small town of Rosholt flows a few trout streams. One of the
most popular was/is the Little Wolf river. Here, at a public access point I spent several
"opening days" at a site known (at least for the weekend) as Camp Pokeatwatalot. I was told
once by Mercury Dave, one of the long-time attendees, that "the name is Indian but the
translation has been lost with time..." and to "just let it go."
So I did.

Image


After the weekend was over and the initial opening day pomp and gluttany had faded, I often returned to fish. Mostly alone.
One crazy-pretty, early summer eve I parked my old VW square back at the turnaround as I'd done many times before and hiked over land a couple rough miles downstream. My plan was to fish my way back up to the car. At a point that I judged to be far enough to just permit returning at full dark I turned toward the sound of the little river to begin fishing. By chance, my point of entry was a pretty stretch where the water flowed around a bend and over a huge winter-downed oak. And there, as luck would have it, was a great looking hole with a large and dark undercut bank created by the interruption of flow. I went into sneak mode. When in position, I lobbed my little Panther Martin spinner upstream of the tree and watched it come tumbling down with the current. As I did so, something caught my eye in mid current directly opposite of me. It was a fish. A Brook trout to be precise...and an absolute monster at that! I was dumbfounded by it's size and guessed it at 17 inches...a true dinosaur for a small stream that seldom, if ever gave up an honest thirteen. (I've since, readjusted my estimate to a
"rock-solid" 16.) To this day, it is the largest Brookie I've ever seen south of Labrador. As I watched the monster, it flaired its mouth, showing lots of "white" and in the process, expelled a small shiny object. MY SPINNER!! ARRGH! Un-freaking-believable! I'd lost track of my lure when I saw the trout and didn't put the simple two and two together, that it'd risen in the water column to intercept my shiny little offering. As I crouched there in disbelief,
the fish, and my heart, sank out of sight.
The evening moved on and I caught some good ones but couldn't get THE trout out of my head. I told my friend Joe about it and together, a week later returned for the long walk, deep into the forest. I remember hoping I could even find the hole again...The slog was tough but mostly uneventful. Up the hardwood ridges, down and around the bordering marshes and up the ridges again... Just when I thought we were in the zone and began listening for the river to give direction to its whereabouts, I thought I heard voices. Joe cocked his head to one side, cupped and ear and stated simply: "If I'm not mistaking, that's Hendrix and the Star Spangled Banner..." I listened harder and sure enough, he was correct. We turned toward the river and followed the sound right to my "secret hole." And there...there, standing at attention, right hand over heart, at the head of MY HOLE, on MY OAK TREE was a tall, skinny naked guy with long hair. Hendrix was blasting out of a boombox on the opposite bank. I was absolutely dumbfounded and asked: "how the hell did you get all the way back here?!" He looked at us for about five long seconds and simply said: "The road's right there dude."
Joe looked at me in absolute and abject disgust. I'd made him trudge over an hour through all the swamp and mosquitos and ridges and briars and poison ivy, uphill and down, just to reach my "secret" spot and it turned out to be another public access downstream of where we parked.
We walked the long, black top road all the way back to my vehicle. And except in my dreams, I never saw that fish again.


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 Post subject: Re: crazy times
PostPosted: February 3rd, 2011, 7:58 am 
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Tim Borski wrote:
Camp Pokeatwatalot.


Ha! I like it. Mostly I like to see all the Point beer in camp. :beer:

That's a funny Brook trout story, and can relate to the let down you had seeing someone in YOUR hole.

-Dell


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 Post subject: Re: crazy times
PostPosted: February 3rd, 2011, 8:29 am 
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These have been great to read, and now it's how I start my day. Wake up have a cup of coffee, drop the kids off at school, come home have another cup of jo ♨ while checking to see if any new stories have been added. After that I start my day. aaahh.✌

Here's another one.

A few years ago I used to fish this small spring creek out side of Billings not to far. It is a beautiful little spring creek (it's actually great multistrata habitat). There are a lot of trout in this creek, small trout, but willing to take a dry fly most of the spring, summer and fall.

One day I had walked up stream further then I usually did, and ran in to a beaver pond, I creeped up to look in to the pond from the only high point over looking the pond. I sat there watching the pond looking for a big fish, or the resident beaver. I sat there for an hour easy, just looking and watching.
And to my surprise I spot a huge Brown trout, 26", 27" inches. I watched it swim the pond, eating nymphs every now and then, and something on the surface every now and then too. I tied on beetle pattern on to heavy tippet, and made a cast still sitting down so not to spook this monster, when the line and fly hit the water the Brown freaked out and blew out of the pond to go hide in some cattails on the other side of the pond. "Dam", I'd said to my self, "That was a good cast."

I went back to that pond every 4 or 5 days all summer to try and catch this herculean Brown. I'd sneak up to the pond, and look for him on my knees until I found him. Then I'd make a cast with some fly that I thought would fool him in to eating it. Most times the fly would land in front of him and he'd blow up and go hide in the cattails. Sometimes he'd just swim underneath the dry fly, not looking at the fly at all. If it was a nymph it'd splash on the landing and spook my picky friend too, and off he'd run to the cattails to sulk over my presence.
On days I couldn't find him, I'd worry that he'd left the pond for good, never to be cast at again. But the next time fishing there he'd be swimming his pond eating what ever he liked. One evening just before dark I was casting to him, and the resident beaver snuck up on me and slapped it's tail so close to me I about jumped out of my boots.

Winter came: I thought of this super-sized trout often. Bidding my time until spring.

When spring came, my fishing buddy Todd wanted to see this large Brown I kept talking about. When I took him to the pond, we crept up on the pond looking over the edge into the water, and there it was in all his titanic size for Todd to see.
Todd said, "Wholly hell that's a big fish." I said in a whisper, "see I told you it was big."
Todd said, "Dude you can catch this fish, look at him he's eating."

Sure enough the trout was eating nymphs, and swimming around the pond in a clockwise rotation, we watched him eat for about a half hour, and we devised a plan on how to catch this trophy fish.
Because he spooked when ever a cast went over him or in front of him, we thought it'd be a good idea to cast a bead-headed Zugbug in behind the Brown let it sink and wait, when it made it's rotation and was facing the fly I'd then strip the Zugbug up, in 6 inch strips, off the bottom right in front of the ginormous trouts face. We knew it couldn't resist this plan, it was to perfect.
I asked Todd if he remembered his camera. He thought I was getting ahead of myself, I said, "no way this is going to work."

When the Brown passed us I made the cast with the Zugbug. It landed behind him without spooking the big trout, and we waited.
The Brown was doing just what we thought it'd do, swimming in it's clock wise rotation towards the sunken Zugbug. When the immense fish was about 4 feet from the Zugbug I started my strips. We could see the fish saw the Zugbug from it's reaction, it started to speed up to catch the nymph. Todd said, "Here he comes, he sees it, wait…wait."
When the massive trout was about a foot from the fly, a little Rainbow of about 10 inches came shooting out of I don't know where, and ate the Zugbug quick as lightning, hooked it's self, and proceeded to do a Mary Lou Retton floor routine all over the beaver pond.
We never even saw where the Brown went, it disappeared like a puff of smoke. I'm sure it was sitting in it's cattail hide wondering how we had got so close to it. I was dumbfounded, and wonder to this day what I'd done for such bad karma to drop on me.

When I landed the Rainbow, Todd asked me if I wanted my photo with it (not funny then, but funny now). I thought of throwing the Rainbow at the cattails where the trout hid, but I remembered that karma thing. I kept my temper and released the little Rainbow back to the pond, but I did cuss him pretty good.

On the hike out Todd tried to console me by saying I'd get another shot at the big Brown, later in the year. I agreed, and hoped it'd be sooner then later. I went back to the beaver pond a week later, we had had a few big rain storms hit the Billings area, and I wasn't able to get back to the pond before that. When I walked up to the pond my heart sank. The creek had had a flash flood and the beaver pond was gone except for a few snaggle tooth stumps sticking out, you wouldn't even think there used to be a beaver pond there. My hulking nemeses long gone.

When ever I fish this small creek or go flip rocks for Pale milk snakes, I'm reminded of this huge fish, and how close I'd come to not catching him.

-Dell


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 Post subject: Re: crazy times
PostPosted: February 3rd, 2011, 3:42 pm 
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Tim's
Quote:
"The road's right there dude."
:lol: :lol: Too funny... Ya can't make up stuff like that!
.
.
.
Dell, it’s those "big one that got away" experiences that keep you going back.
.
.
.
Small one -- - -
When I was a teen, my house backed up to miles and miles of forest in Northern, NJ. Though posted by the real owner, city of Newark, 35 miles away, all of us local kids really owned it.
We hunted, fished, herped, explored, etc. almost every day.

At the headwaters of a trout stream, I found a large pond, which was protected from fishing by 50 feet of swamp on all sides.
I waited for winter...
One bleak day, cold as crap, and a foot of snow, I hiked the 2 1/2 miles into the woods, carrying a hand ax, small fishing pole, and some preserved minnows for bait.
This was before the wonderful gortex and thinsulate clothes of today.

After an exhausting slog through the snow, it was already beginning to get dark, but the idea of fishing a pond untouched since Native Americans was an obsession.

I got out on the ice in the middle of the pond ... no auger of course...
Already chilled to the bone.... chopped a hole in the ice that I thought would only be inches deep...... No skimmer... Use your hands (really smart - wet hands, gloves and sleeves in sub zero weather.)

Sun was on the horizon....Finally broke through about 1 1/2 feet of ice with my hatchet....
.
Then I was suddenly filled with the adrenalin warmth you only get when expecting to catch a lunker.
.
With the little feeling I had left in my fingers, I baited the hook and submerged a dead minnow into the black water of the dark hole.
.
Result... The water wasn't tannic colored at all, it was clear. I could see my minnow resting on the bottom about three inches below the ice!!!!!!! :oops: :oops:
.
It was a long, long, miserable walk home in the moonlight.... :evil: :evil:


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 Post subject: Re: crazy times
PostPosted: February 12th, 2011, 9:00 pm 

Joined: June 9th, 2010, 7:15 pm
Posts: 279
Location: Palm Beach Gardens, Fl
I've not spent much time in this part of the Forum, but I'll add a story to a neat thread.

Unfortunately, I don't fish much any more, except while on vacation, but between ages 7 and 35, I was a keen fisherman.

I was also a keen reader as a kid and bought/read in the library several fishing magazines a month, for years.

I was always fascinated of stories of Bonefishing: Sneaking up on Bonefish on extremely shallow flats trying to get the finicky things to hit flies or small lures without spooking the fish. Thought it must be the ultimate fishing skill and it was clearly the only way to catch Bonefish.

I was fortunate enough to live in Nassau, Bahamas during high school but never was able to go Bonefishing.:( No one I knew fished other than for food, I had no boat, and there was no way I could hire a guide. But I did get my fishing in, off the shore.

The summer before I left for college, I was living in The Emerald Beach Hotel on Cable Beach, and being a night owl, did a lot of late night fishing off the hotel dock in about 20 foot plus of water.

My usual setup was a light rod (Mitchell 300 with about 8 lb test and light spinning reel) and a heavy rod( Mitchell 302 with about 14 lb test and heavy spinning reel). I tried to use live bait, usually pilchards, but in those days long before Sabiki rigs, I sometimes could not catch any, and always had cut squid or fish as a backup. My fishing method was very sophisticated :), I baited the rods, turned down the drags, and waited for the reels to sing. I did very well on big Muttons and other stuff, and always used a steel leader due to the toothy guys out there....

One such tough pilchard night about 2AM, I had one out on the big rod, but was stuck with a big chunk of cut squid on the 300. I was buying a soda in the machine in the building which adjoined the shore end of the dock, when I hear a reel scream. I sprint the 75 yards to the 300 and it is about half stripped, I tightened the drag, set the hook, and seconds later, it is almost all stripped.:)

Being unable to follow him with the dock, I was lucky enough to turn him and pump him back a bit closer. Had about 3-4 more long runs every time he saw the dock.

Finally after a long fight, he was in the net.

And you knew where this was going: About 4 lbs, my first (and still only) Bonefish, caught at night, on cut squid, off a dock, and with a steel leader. Guess the magazines were wrong. :beer:


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 Post subject: Re: crazy times
PostPosted: February 13th, 2011, 5:38 am 
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Lloyd, I hear ya. Bonefish played a fairly memorable role in my world too.

Fresh out of High school and working full time at a furniture manufacturing plant/ going to
school at the University of Wisconsin, Stevens Point was taking serious time away from my other pursuits.

One bright and warm April morning in the early to mid 80's, I grabbed MY Mitchell 300 and
wandered down to the Wisconsin river. The Smallies were bunched up in pre-spawn mode and I crushed'em. I bet I caught 50 in a few gorgeous hours up to almost 5lbs! I couldn't've been more excited.
The winter had been brutal. At the time, I was living in a small, mostly uninsulated cabin
atop a bare and windswept hill above the Plover river on McDill pond. "Cottage 40" was so
cold that one night, I fell asleep in my long underwear, in my sleeping bag, under my electric blanket (thanks Mom) and a couple of comforters. I'd unintentionally left the door of my little 'fridge ajar and when I woke in the morning, my gallon of milk was frozen solid as a rock! (I could've gone bowling with the head of lettuce.) As it turned out, the refrigerator was actually keeping it's contents WARMER than the surrounding room. Anyway, it was clear to me that with my success the afternoon before, Spring had finally sprung.
I raced home, put new 8lb Trilene on my reel and went to bed early, knowing that the sooner
I fell asleep, the sooner morning would arrive. When I woke up, I placed a phone call to
work and said: I don't feel good, (fake) cough, cough. I'm not gonna make it today, (fake)
cough, cough." The lady on the other end said, "Sorry you don't feel good Tim, we'll seeya
tomorrow." With that, I grabbed my newly rigged spinning rod which was leaning in ready against the wall next to the door. I was going fishing. And then...then, when I swung open the door, I was greeted with 9 inches of fresh snow that had fallen in the night. I lost it. I was absolutely beside myself and didn't know what to do. ugh.
After awhile, I called my bank. A friendly person answered the phone and I asked: "how much
money do I have?" The person replied: "Mr Borski, you have X-amount in checking, X-amount in savings." I said "close'em down. I'm coming to get it."
You see Lloyd, I too had read all the old Field and Streams, Outdoor lifes and Sports
Afield magazines of my Dad's as I was growing up and always read/reread the articles on
Bonefishing...how scarce and wary they were, how far and fast they ran, all the stuff about
"skimmer jigs tipped with finger nail sized pieces of shrimp...blah, blah,blah."
I then called a friend and said "I'm going to Florida to either catch a bonefish, or go
broke trying, wanna come?" He said he could'nt, he had to work. I asked him to watch my
cabin while I was gone and booked a flight to Miami.

A couple days later, Jane, my girlfriend, drove me to the little Central Wisconsin airport in Mosinee.
She gave me a kiss, hugged me, said be careful, seeya soon...all that good stuff.

I arrived in Mia, got a room at an airport hotel and began looking through the Yellow pages
(remember them?) looking for tackle shops. I told all, "I was visiting and wanted to catch a
Bone." Without exception, they replied that I needed to "contact Captain Bill Curtis. He was the man." So I called. Bill's wife, Adrian answered the phone and I told her I wanted to book her husband for a couple days. She said fine, what days would you like? And I said "I would like to begin tomorrow." She laughed and said "how about the last week in August?" Unbeknownst to me, Capt Bill was very famous in the arena of warm, shallow, saltwater and was booked months in advance. Adrian said her husband had other good guides that he gave his "overflow" to and would call me back with one of their names. Later that night, a curious chain of events happened. She called and said good news/bad news. The person that had Bill booked for the next few days had to cancel and I could take his place. (I later learned from Bill, that the gentleman was a long-time customer and had a "mild" stroke...hence the bad news.) I met him the following morning at a ramp at a place on Key Biscayne called "Sunday's on the Bay."

Trying to make a long story a bit shorter here...

After a long day of struggling, I managed to land my first Bone. The event happened 18 miles from the dock. It was at the very end of the day, at a place that I've since visited many times and will forever be special to me, the Ragged Keys. The light was poor and I "thought" I saw "something" moving a ways out in front of us but wasn't sure. I told Bill and he said "cast in the direction you think it was moving" so I did. I was expecting nothing but soon felt a "tap." I relayed to my Captain and he said "come tight and set the hook hard." I was fully expecting a little panfish to come flying out of the water and over my head. The fish nibbled my shrimp like a Bluegill in McDill pond but when I tightened up, I was completely unprepared for what followed.
All the articles I'd read and reread simply didn't convey that first long run. The fish ran and ran and ran...coming from a background of fresh water, I was completely stupified. Which is to say, at the time, I thought all fish are the same, right? How can one 27 inch fish be so different from the next? And how could anything pull harder than a Musky? In any event, that was my mindset. Until then.

Back at the dock, I apologised to Bill, "I'm sorry, I don't have a lot of money" and tipped him 65 bucks for his time
AND ESPECIALLY patience with my ineptitude. I half expected him to be pissed cuz the people I'd talked to at the tackle shops all said to tip a hundred bucks. (I learned later, they
were all "messing with me" but didn't care; I had a solid 11lber to my name.)
That night, as I drove back to my hotel, I stopped at a 7-11 and purchased a 6 pak of Bud
long-necks. I walked around back to the big green dumpster and ripped up my plane ticket home and tossed it in. I then placed a brief long distance call to the friend who was minding my cabin and making sure the pipes didn't freeze. "..Don't wait up."

It was 22 years before I'd see my girl again...but by then, it was over.

Tim


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 Post subject: Re: crazy times
PostPosted: February 13th, 2011, 10:06 am 

Joined: June 9th, 2010, 7:15 pm
Posts: 279
Location: Palm Beach Gardens, Fl
Great story, Tim.

BTW, I still have the 300 and 302! :shock: You?


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 Post subject: Re: crazy times
PostPosted: February 14th, 2011, 3:42 am 
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Location: FL Keys
Lloyd Heilbrunn wrote:
Great story, Tim.

BTW, I still have the 300 and 302! :shock: You?


Lloyd, now that I think back, it was a Mitchell 302. And no, the poor little thing was completely destroyed by strong fish and warm salt water soon after. :(


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 Post subject: Re: crazy times
PostPosted: February 14th, 2011, 8:29 pm 

Joined: June 9th, 2010, 7:15 pm
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Location: Palm Beach Gardens, Fl
You sure it was 302? Seems a huge reel for smallmouth...

http://cgi.ebay.com/Used-Garcia-Mitchel ... 4156206691

I still love these old Mitchells, especially since I discovered about 5 years back you can get parts on ebay!


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 Post subject: Re: crazy times
PostPosted: February 16th, 2011, 1:53 pm 
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Location: Los Angeles County
WOW WOW WOW :shock: :shock: :shock: :shock:

Some great stories here, and this may be in IMHO one of the greatest threads in FHF history..

I belly laughed, had a tear in my eye, laughed somemore, than admired Tim for staying in a place he wanted to stay...

Thanks guys for the stories..

Fundad


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 Post subject: Re: crazy times
PostPosted: February 16th, 2011, 7:37 pm 
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Location: Unicoi, TN
Tim, Your "migration" was perfect.
:lol: :lol:

Lloyd, Bones are just magical and are most fun to catch.
Now I'm going to say something to make you Floridians cringe.
Almost as much as bones, I enjoy catching medium to large Jack Crevalle on medium spinning or fly tackle. Their fight is amazing for their size.
.
.
Mitchell 300 series were a mainstay and great... Talking about old reels made me dig out my Dad's 2 spinning reels:

Model 2 and Model 3 Airex half-bails. Airex was then a division of Lionel.

Reel 2
Image
Image
Image

Reel 3
Image
Image
Image


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PostPosted: February 16th, 2011, 7:45 pm 

Joined: June 9th, 2010, 7:15 pm
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Location: Palm Beach Gardens, Fl
Those are cool.

I have some old Ocean City baitcasters(really baitsoakers) from my Dad and a really old surfcasting rod but no spinning reels.


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 Post subject: Re: crazy times
PostPosted: February 16th, 2011, 9:12 pm 
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Location: Montana
Right on Bill, those reels are awesome looking.
I'll have to photo a couple of old Hardy Perfects I have, and still fish.

-Dell


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 Post subject: Re: crazy times
PostPosted: February 19th, 2011, 9:10 am 
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Location: kaukauna, wi
old tackle is cool stuff. i've got some old baitcasters and flyrods from my grandpa. i've also got an old electronic "fish call" unused and still in the box. i think it is from the early seventies.

all my stuff is boxed up right now, but when i get permanently settled here in wisconsin, you can bet i will have it all displayed. manly knick-knacks.

gotta run, but i'll post the "orange tackle-box" stories later on this weekend.

-tim, where on the wisconsin did you get the early smallies? i hate to ask for your fishing spot, but hey, someone should fish it. i'm guessing you don't get there too often.

-ben


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 Post subject: Re: crazy times
PostPosted: February 22nd, 2011, 10:15 am 
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Location: cape cod ma.
Tim....
That was a great story!!! An obvious happy ending as well :D

I don't have many crazy fishin stories, though i try to fish at least once a day whether i need to or not.

In late september every year the stripers and bluefish are migrating back south and they are trying to put on as much weight as possible. sometimes certain sandbars will stack up with baitfish and explosive blitzes can happen. One year i had headed up to my favorite place after work(the person i worked for had us start at 5:30 am and finish around 8:30 pm)the rip looked quiet when I arrived so I fed my dog and drank a cold one watching the water. I saw one small ripple over the rip, so i waded out a bit and threw a little bomber out. Two cranks on the reel and the rod doubled over, i ended up with a nice 40" bass on the beach.Let said fish go,and repeated the whole scenario again. This kept happening ALL night, tides be damned the fish just shifted on the bar and kept hitting.I kept saying to myself "one more fish then head home". Before I knew it, the gray light had come and i needed to get to work. :x I got through a standard day of bullsh*t and though very tired, went to see if the fish were still there. The answer is YES! the exact same thing happened to me again! Off to work i go...Back to the beach again after work.(stupid aren't i?) My first cast comes up empty! THANK EFFIN GOD!!! Maybe i can sleep tonight. Just one more to be sure...GODDAMMIT!!! I got this fish to the beach and decided that was it. It was 52" long and 48 lbs, my biggest bass to this day. i stopped on the way home for a beer and walked out of the bar to see a group of guys staring in the back of my truck. At this point i was happy, but less than social. A guy asked me where i caught the fish. My answer was," in the ocean. where the hell else?"

I don't fish as hard as I used to, but it is such a big part of my day to day i doubt i'll ever stop

( and Tim, i'm sorry to not post ice fishing stuff... but i have determined that i truly hate it! ;) at least casting to non existent fish in streams keeps me moving and warmer :lol: :lol:


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PostPosted: February 22nd, 2011, 12:02 pm 
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AAAHHHH, the orange tackle box. she finally gave it up though, about twenty-five good years on her. over time, the fold out tray broke off, and finally the clasp holding it together let go. she is officially retired.

this tackle box was a catch-all for my lures as well as wade's. as kids, we rode our bikes everywhere, but neither one of us wanted to carry the tackle box. we came up with every contest imaginable to see who would carry it.

this box has been through a lot. one day, we set it out on a rock off the shoreline so no one would grab it. at the time, the water was high, and there was no place to set it when we got out to the dam face. when we came back, it was gone. we looked everywhere. a week later, wade's mom saw an add in the paper for a lost tackle box. "call to identify". it was ours. why someone would walk out fifty feet into fast water to get it is beyond me, and what are the odds that it would float down and end up there. anyhow, we got the tackle box back.

i was fishing at the mouth of a river in the U.P. that emptied into lake superior. my brother put the box down along shore and we fished. at some point, the water rose, and it started floating out into the big lake. it was a long cold swim, but we got it back.

there were plenty of times that we had to pocket the contents in order to make room for fish or turtles that we wanted to bring back for the aquariums. the rule was that the one who wanted the animal had to ride home with pockets full of hooks and such, and the other had to carry the box. these were times when we wanted to carry the box.

the clasp was not completely reliable, and there were plenty of times one would pick it up and all the contents would empty. it sucked when it was you, but it was funny when it was not.

-ben


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 Post subject: Re: crazy times
PostPosted: February 23rd, 2011, 7:05 am 
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Ben, love the orange tackle box story...reminds me of an old Plano I used to put up with.

Pete, this is for you...it's not entirely about ice fishing but it's all I've got.



Near as I can remember, I was 10 or 11. I was big on trout fishing, but not so big that I
could drive and my world revolved around Plover creek, outside of ...drum roll please...Plover,
Wisconsin. It was the only trout fishing within striking distance of my Schwinn Continental
and as one would imagine, I learned the stretch of water pretty well. Over the course of
three or four long summers, I'd become pretty familar with the little brookies and how to go
about procuring them. The trick, I found, was to stay away from all the obvious holes and
focus on the banks. Right up tight in many places were areas of grass hanging over the water.
The trout would come gliding out, seemingly from inches of water, grab my crawler and
retreat. I'd give them about five seconds if they were small, (a relative term) less if they
had "shoulders". By shoulders I mean nine inches or better.

On one particular bend that I fished everytime I worked my way up or down, there was an
undercut bank. It was big and formidable and I just knew an "honest twelve" lived in it
somewhere. I'd found it impossible to get a worm way back under there and often looked at it like it
was from that old Dr Suess book, "McElligot's pool."
Then one fateful evening, while staring at the water flowing under the bend, a lightbulb
went on. Ice auger. That was the it! My Dad's pride and joy...his brandy-new Jiffy power
auger...I could punch a hole and then drop my offering down. Presto Zingo, I'd have my 12!
I waded across the creek, (easy to do cuz it was barely 25 feet wide and only inches deep
upstream) climbed the bank and started stomping around listening for "hollow spots." It
didn't take long to realize it extended under the bank further than I realized and I became
more and more excited as I "mapped" it out. I finally chose the precise place I'd drill the
hole when I returned. It was on the upper end of the cut and my thought was, from there, I
could drift a bait down current. I marked it with a broken stick about as tall as I was and
left.

My Dad was working shifts at the time and the following week, he was on 3 to 11. The next
chance I got, when he'd gone off to work, I went into the closet in our garage that we
stored all our hunting/fishing gear. And there, leaning in a corner, waiting for first ice
and looking lonely was the Jiffy. I'd never run it before because I was too small. Dad would
punch the holes; my job was to follow behind, cleaning out the slush to make them fishable.
I wrestled it outside, looked at it for a bit, found the choke lever and On/Off switch. I
gave the cord a pull and it started right up! Wow. Shutting it down, I muscled it onto the
handlebars of the Schwinn and (awkwardly at first) rode out of the driveway. I was happy to
see "nosey Tom" my neighbor wasn't around.

It took awhile but I finally made the 3.5 miles down Porter road, to the creek. I threw
the bike in the bushes and started dragging Mr Jiff through the woods to my spot. When I
arrived, I had to get it across to the other bank but did so without incident and propped it
up against a big tree near the stick I'd placed other day and took a breather.
Once ready, I scraped all the leaves away with my foot, put said auger on the ground and
fired it up. It again started easily and a couple interesting things happened quickly.

The first was caused by the fact the ground was full of roots from the forest. I hadn't
thought of that and as I pressed down, leaning heavily on the throttle, the blades began
working...for about a second, before they locked up tight on and unseen root. This stopped
the blades dead in their tracks but spun the upper part of the machine. In an instant, I was
orbiting around the shaft at roughtly 200 RPMS...plenty fast enough to staighten my legs out
behind me. I did a couple complete orbits and was tossed off to the side. The second thing that got my attention was the shere amount of dirt, sticks, leaves and mud kicking up from one little hole six inches in diameter. All of which managed to find my face, neck and
shoulders. Shutting it off to regroup, I walked the 12 feet or so to the creek, jumped in
the ice cold water and cleaned up as best I could.

Eventually, I made it through and as expected, the water is murky with the debris I stirred
up. I place a large slab of dead bark from a nearby Elm over the hole and covered it with
leaves, grabbed the auger and headed home. My plan was to return tomorrow or the next day, catch one of the little Muddlers (Sculpin) upstream of the cut, throw it on a number 10 hook with a split shot and drop down into the abyss. I was excited and singing all the way
home. Nosey Tom was still nowhere to be seen and I leaned the Jiffy against the wall of the
closet, exactly where it was before.

I didn't get a chance to return for three of the longest days of my life, but when I did,
everything was still in place. I carefully removed the leaves and bark, and just as I
expected, the water was crystal clear. It was also very dark "down there" so I decide I'd
use a bigger bait than I normally would and it took me ten minutes or so of flipping rocks
to uncover and subdue a fat-headed, three incher. I snuck back to the hole in the forest and
lowered it down. I swear it took less than five seconds before I felt the tap...fed some
line and came tight to a strong (reletive term) fish. And before I knew it, I was watching a
fish splash crazily around in the shallows of the creek proper while my line was still
angling straight down the hole! Quickly and without ceremony, I winched it back, lifting it
from the hole like a panfish through the ice. And there, flopping in the leaves, was the
most incredibly gorgeous 10 1/2 incher the world has ever known. It is almost solid black
from (I assume) living in its "cave." It was accented by the brightest of crimson fins,
bordered in Ivory white. All in all, it is an image that will be with me as long as I live
and is just as clear now, almost 40 years later, as the instant it happened. I had no way of
knowing it at the time, but I was looking at what was to become one of the greatest encounters of my entire fishing life.

Fast forward to first ice of the following winter...

One morning at 4:00AM, Dad snuck into my room on a school night. His snowmoblie suit wass
thrown over his shoulder and he was wearing his Sorel boots. As he did on occasion, he was
sneaking me out of the house without waking Mom. We were going ice fishing. As always, he'd
deal with the "stuff hitting the fan" upon our return.
It was a long drive that morning; all the way south and west to Onalaska on the backwaters
of the Mississppi. I slept in the car on the drive; just like my sons do with me now. We got
out on the ice and some others are already set up because word of an epic, big Bluegill bite
was in full swing had gotten around to a chosen few. My Dad always had the best inside dope
and when he said something was "going off" it was best to heed his advise.

So he sets up to begin punching holes with his pride and joy, and the auger simply skates
off the ice causing him to lose balance and fall awkwardly...in front of several people, no
less. He looks at machine incredulously and sees what I, as a kid, had missed last
summer. The blades and shaft were covered with dried, cracked mud, sticks and assorted debris. Being young, It hadn't even crossed my mind to clean it off. It was useless and he was beyond upset with me. Fortunately, a couple guys from my Dad's work were there and let us borrow their auger and we ended up filling a five gallon bucket with big, "Shlabba" bluegills.

My Dad, was short, quiet and dissapointed with me all day, but on the long drive home after
dark, he began to chuckle. Little fits and starts at first soon turned into full blown
laughter and he couldn't stop. I asked him what was so funny and he told me he was thinking
about me drilling a hole through the forest floor just to catch a "silly trout." I could barely
understand him he was laughing so hard, but I got the gist of it. I then told him about the
blades wedging on roots and me flying through the air in circles like Superman or something
and it got him laughing even harder still. He finally had to stop and pull off the road on some dark stretch of highway. He leaned toward me across the open front seat and gave me a firm hug. My Dad held me for a long, long while and even though I was supremely happy, I began to cry. He hugged me harder still, and I knew all was well again.

Last Friday morning after receiving some good info, I woke both my sons at exactly 2:25AM, (on a school day) got them dressed quietly and out the door. We were 200 plus miles up the road before Momma even woke up...some things will never change. :mrgreen:

Tim


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 Post subject: Re: crazy times
PostPosted: February 23rd, 2011, 8:26 am 
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Nice story Tim. :thumb:

-Dell


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 Post subject: Re: crazy times
PostPosted: February 23rd, 2011, 2:10 pm 
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Location: cape cod ma.
THAT.... was FANTASTIC :thumb:


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 Post subject: Re: crazy times
PostPosted: February 23rd, 2011, 4:27 pm 
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Quote:
-tim, where on the wisconsin did you get the early smallies? i hate to ask for your fishing spot, but hey, someone should fish it. i'm guessing you don't get there too often.


Ben, it was below the mill (it used to be Whiting paper? Now Kimberly Clarke?) on Tommy's Turnpike. The fish were stacked up on the east bank, out of the current flow. Not gonna do you any good tho, the area is heavily posted and policed now.

I'm going to be splitting my time between Point and Fish Creek most of this coming June. You gonna be around?


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 Post subject: Re: crazy times
PostPosted: February 24th, 2011, 10:44 pm 
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Location: Montana
Four or five years ago I used to work on a river here in Montana called the Smith river.
Here are two photos of what the Smith looks like.
Image

Image
The Smith is a 5 day float trip with beautiful camping spots every night of the trip. To put a trip together with paying client's makes this trip quite an operation.
For example, If you have 8 clients the Outfitter needs to hire 4 guides, and 2 or 3 guys to haul all the clients gear and the gear for camp, such as tents, cots, beer, water, wine, all the food for the trip, the kitchen gear to cook the food, breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and all the guides camp gear too. These "gear guys" then set all this stuff up before the anglers, and guides arrive in camp.
You could have as many as 15 people in camp, with 6 or seven of us being paid to either guide clients into fish, or haul gear and set up camp. You become good friends on these trips with the guys you work with. I've made some of my best friends from these Smith trips.

On one of these trips we had gotten done with a days worth of fishing, had dinner, and were sitting around camp at our boats drinking beer, and BSing, away from the clients as they sat by the camp fire doing the same thing we were.
As we're all talking one of the gear guys, Adam, see's my spare oar (which we are required to have on the boat) in my boat and tells me he thinks that it is one of the crappiest looking spare oars he's ever seen.
It was a rough looking spare oar with it's beat up chipped oar blade, dinged up handle, and it was only about 7' long, which is to short for most drift boat or rafts. In an emergency it'd work fine. In all the years I'd had it, I never had to use it. I looked over in Adams boat and he had the same kind of rough looking spare oar, short and beat up. Another guide showed us his spare oar, and it was worse then the first two we had, beat up for sure, but only about 4' long.
We teased each other back and forth for a few minutes about our spare oars, then moved on to another subject.

The next morning after breakfast we load up clients to go fishing, and left the gear guys to tear down camp and move it to the next camp 15 miles down river. Before we pushed off I took Adam's good oars and placed them in my boat, and replaced them with the old spare oars from our boats. He was going to have a tough day rowing with two crappy oars. A couple of guides and clients saw what I did, and started chuckling and didn't say a word.

Sure enough a few hours later I'm pulled over fishing my fishermen in a nice pool on the river when the gear guys come floating down with all the gear stacked in their rafts. I can see Adam isn't happy and is struggling with the two crummy oars, but as they go by he doesn't say a thing about it, just waves, and says see you in camp.
His response left me scratching my head thinking, gee I was hoping for a little more reaction then that from him. huh.

Well, we fish all day and as we're nearing camp (crows foot, if any of you have been on the Smith before) one of the other guides pulls up to us and says, "hey what that's yellow thing on top of the cliff?" I look up and sure enough there is this bright yellow object way up on top of this mountain/cliff. I'm like huh, weird, I've never seen that before. We go a little further, and we're all looking at this yellow thing out in the middle of no where, and one of the clients says "it looks like a tent." I look a little longer and say, "Yeah it does, it looks like MY tent."

We float into camp and everyone is smiling. Adam comes up to me and say's "Don't phuck with the gear guys Dell." Everyone laughs. I laugh and cuss, and cuss some more. I march off to my boat, row across river, anchor up, and go to retrieve my tent. After about a 30 minute hike I reach my tent, and not only is it set up and pegged down, my foam pad, and sleeping bag are laid out for me in it, with a pillow at the head of the bag, and a spare pair of shoes are sitting at the foot of the bag too, with my gear bag and all my clothes in it sitting in the vestibule.
Clients, guides, and gear guys are taking turns yelling witty taunts up to me from the camp below.
I loaded up all my gear, tent pegs and all, and hike back to my boat with all my gear, and row back across to camp and Adam comes up to me smiling, hands me a Gin & Tonic, and says again, "Don't phuck with the gear guys," and laughs.

One of the better practical jokes ever played on me.

This was my view from where my tent was set up. And you're looking at Crows foot camp.

Image
-Dell


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 Post subject: Re: crazy times
PostPosted: February 25th, 2011, 7:40 am 

Joined: June 9th, 2010, 7:15 pm
Posts: 279
Location: Palm Beach Gardens, Fl
I think I did two guided day trips when I was in Montana but did not do overnight. IIRC, one day wading both in and outside the Park, and a day float trip on the Yellowstone fishing Hoppers.


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 Post subject: Re: crazy times
PostPosted: February 27th, 2011, 4:40 pm 
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Joined: June 11th, 2010, 7:43 am
Posts: 1253
Location: kaukauna, wi
these next three are about lost lures, and the odd way they were returned or lost forever.

we had a small floater rapala in the orage tackle box of course. black and gold and beat up. this was one of the lures that we fought over. this bait was awesome. it caught smallies like no other. as mentioned, it was beat up. at the time, it was missing at least half the points on the trebles. one day, i snagged it and lost it. it was a bummer. about a week later, i was fishing a stretch of shoreline about a mile and a half from where i'd lost it. i looked down into the rocks and there was that rapala. there was no mistaking it for another either. not sure what ever happened to it, but it was a good bait to say the least.

we were all at the dam one day, and my friend chad had on a really big smallmouth. eventually, it broke his line. bummer. i was on the rock with him about five minutes later, and the same bass jumped and threw his buzzbait. it landed on the rock about two feet from us.

i had this goofy looking spoon in my tackle for a long time and i never used it. it's one of those ugly lures that just didn't look like it would ever work. it was orange and brown and ugly. for some reason i used it one early spring in northern wisconsin, and found out it did work. it actually wobbled on the surface. it turned out to be a great bait for largies in the lillies. unfortunately one day i made a bomb cast from shore into some pads and my bail closed mid-cast. i hate casting off a bait. i watched my now favorite bait hit the water. as a last twist of the knife, a fish hit it as soon as it landed.


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