In all my years of fishing there's only been one man that I've had to take hooks out of that were buried past the barb. It just so happens that I've done this for him twice! Call it what you will for me, be it first-born duty or eldest son responsibility; I was the man for "the man" on two separate occasions. If you fish as much as the men in my family do, it's inevitable that one day you to will look square into the face of this gut wrenching situation. I guess, if it was going to happen to me, the head would be my desired location for impact. The soul reason being that I wouldn't be able to see it. I maintain composure around blood as long as it belongs to a fish, or deer, or some other kind of table-fair, but when it's mine or someone's who's dear to me, I start to get a little queezy. Well, twice in my time my father has been in the right place at the wrong time to catch a crankbait in the head. I wouldn't call this bad luck. I'd rather say it's just a testament to the amount of time it takes on the water to become a great fisherman. The first time it happened, though, I was directly involved.
We were in Canada on a lost lake somewhere in Ontario and I was fishing a suspending jerkbait catching some northern pike. I had a nice one on around 10 pounds and had the fish up to the side of the boat. If you've ever caught pike before, you know how they like to twist and thrash about when you are playing them; well, this one was no different. Just about as the fight was going to end the pike gave one last shake and threw the bait loose. My rod was still loaded from his weight at the time, and that jerkbait shot out of the water like it had been fired from a gun! In a split second I saw both my dad and brother take cover and then heard my brother go, "Oh Sh@#%!" Looking to the front of the boat, I saw that the bait had hit my dad right in the ear, and I couldn't see the barb! A picture is worth a thousand words.
When you're in the middle of nowhere, sometimes the hospital isn't an option; and even if it were, there are sometimes ways that are more, shall we say, cost-effective. The hook was almost all the way through his ear, so in this case we opted to go ahead and finish the job. First we numbed his ear for a few minutes with a piece of ice from the cooler and removed all the other hooks from the bait (I still use this bait BTW). Then, we just simply ran the hook the rest of the way through his ear. At this point we were able to pinch the barb down, and the hook came right out. Within a few hours he was as good as new. The second puncture wound however wasn't as easily dealt with as this first one.
Just about a week ago now, on our most recent Canadian adventure, we had another hook up. No it wasn't the smallmouth bass we caught but rather dad catching himself. Dad was in the process of lifting a smallmouth up into the front of the boat with his rod. Normally when you use this landing technique you swing the fish into the boat to your side; but when you have 3 guys fishing out of one boat, there's not much room. He was lifting the fish directly up to his feet. As he was lifting the fish up out of the water, it started shaking and threw the crankbait loose. The rod being loaded once again gave the bait enough force to be hurled straight up in the air. The bait, then, still being attached to the line and rod, swung right around in a perfect semicircle hitting dad right in the back of the head. At first we thought it was just stuck in his hat, but when he tried to take it off, it wouldn't move. (enter sick feeling in my stomach) One of the hooks in the crankbait was buried past the barb. As much as head wounds can bleed, I didn't think this one was so bad, but that still didn't settle me down. There comes a time in life though when you just have to do what you have to do. After my brother and I tried to think of how to do the "line trick", tried it, and failed; dad said, "just get it out of there!" So I grabbed the pliers and took a deep breath. I held onto my dad's head and jerked the hook out. Oh, it makes me cringe thinking about it. We gave him a plastic worm bag full of ice from the cooler and doctored him up a bit with the first aid kit, and he was good as new. Well, maybe just a little sore on the back of his head.
My dad is the greatest fisherman who ever lived. He loves it, but I know he loves his family more. Thanks, Dad, for all the great memories! Below are some memories from Canada's past. Enjoy. The second-to-last picture is of the fish he caught on the crankbait we pulled out of the back of his head last week. The last picture was one I snapped right as a huge northern had followed his bait back to the boat. Love you dad. Happy Father's Day!
