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| Fishing experiences I'll never forget (No matter how hard I try) |
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| Sometimes, things like lightning storms and fishing injuries are more memorable than actually catching fish |
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By Scott Staats
The most memorable fishing experiences aren't always the ones that brought the most success. For example, the time you got that fish hook in your hand or when you filled up your chest waders with spring-fed river water, stick with you more than that one time you got your limit of trout or finally out-fished your buddy.
Now that I think about it, you never forget those rare times you out-fish your buddy. Don't forget, you can always use the 'ole "Alberto Gonzales rule of Fishing" when your buddy rubs in the fact that he's out-fished you the last seven trips in a row - I don't recall.
I do recall a warm summer day of bass fishing at a reservoir when two of us were paying too much attention to the hungry bass hitting our plastic worms, to notice the dark, ominous clouds right over our heads. We didn't think too much of this until a strange noise caught our attention.
It started with a high-pitched whine and at first I thought it emanated from me because our bass fishing might be cut short due to rain and I was behind on the fish count. It turned out to be our fishing rods from all the electricity in the air. Our hair was probably standing on end under our hats. Not until the booming thunder that almost knocked us down did we realize that it would be a good idea to get off the lake. Looking around, we noticed that all the other boats were already gone. Then the downpour opened and the temperature dropped as we raced back across the lake, darting lightning bolts all the way.
Another memorable trip occurred while steelhead fishing the lower Deschutes River. Before ever reaching the river I managed to injure myself while opening one of those impossibly-tight gates. A prong of barbed wire punctured my thumbnail and left me with throbbing pain the rest of the two-day adventure. I've have since learned not to sit in the gate-opening seat of any vehicle if there is a gate within 100 miles. The best place to sit is in the back seat between two other people.
However, that was only the beginning. Down in the canyon, the temperature hovered around 105 degrees in the shade (did I mention there was no shade?) and, although drinking gallons of water, that was the closest I've ever came to having a heat stroke. That night, we slept under the stars on cots. I should say the others slept. I lay there wide awake listening to the cows walk by and the trains pass by about every half hour. At least the snores, moos and train whistles kept my mind off the throbbing thumb.
I did manage to catch the only steelhead on that trip but I only mention this to reiterate the uncommon fact that I did indeed out-fish the other three people present.
On those rare occasions when I actually out-fish someone on a trip, I can't help but rub it in a bit. I also recall one such outing while accompanying a guide and a lure representative for a day of smallmouth bass fishing. Of course the company man used his lures while I used the old standbys. By the end of the day I caught 25 nice bass and he caught three. The guide gave us each a fish counter to use to keep track of bass we boated. My partner's clicked only a few times while mine mimicked a Geiger counter at a Three Mile Island meltdown. I'm not sure I'll be writing up his lures in a gear review anytime soon. No matter how hard I try, I'll never forget the deep sea fishing trips. I think we caught some fish; I don't even remember. I've never actually gotten seasick but, according to others around me, I've turned more shades of green than Central Oregon hillsides after a spring rain. No captain ever turns around when someone gets seasick, so getting sick right away can make for a long day. Just the mention of chopping seas and 10-foot swells makes me want to take a Dramamine. I think the only cure for sea sickness is to stay home. The trips I've been on give new meaning to the phrases "ole chum" and "heave to."
Scott Staats is a freelance outdoors writer. His column can be read every Tuesday in the Central Oregonian. He can be reached at: falcon@crestviewcable.com |
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