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Jerry
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# Posted: 10 Feb 2011 01:30pm
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Gary,
The friend who was in the john boat, the one who died, was the father of the third person (Judd) in the boat. Judd was actually the one with the fish on his line. The only reason we even threw that rotten line out was we were camping on an island on a river, and even though we left our lines out overnight and they were tied down, in the morning alot of them had been totally stripped of line. When it rains that hard the sturgeon and cat fish go on a feeding binge. Judd threw the spare line out and it stopped in mid cast because it reached the knot on the spool. It got caught in the current and ended up parallel to shore. Ten mintes later it moved out into the river and this gigantic sturgeon jumped completely out of the water. We had devised a plan in advance to chase anything that big in the boat, and the rest is history.
We had three adults and four children there, my first daughter included. Judd is now about 40 and we deer hunt together every year. Thanks for allowing me to reminisce.
Jerry
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Gary O
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# Posted: 10 Feb 2011 10:16pm
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Jer
Your packin' some memories, man.
Put 'er down here.
Your stories are a good read.
I've got a few, but tired of hearing myself.
Never seen a Sturgeon jump. The ones I've hooked seem more like logs. Bet that got the ticker poundin'.
Limit here has been 3 foot min 6 foot max. Same there?
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Jerry
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# Posted: 11 Feb 2011 01:15pm
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Gary,
I've lived a good life, and after all's said and done, memories are all we've got., right? Some people travel world wide but I've never had that itch. Not after spending two years in Nam - I'll live with the effects of that experience till the day I die. I make my memories with family and friends; at the cabin doing what I love.
You sound like my kind of guy with suggesting take a kid along. I was just reading about a local grant program for environmental programs, and wondering if I could take advantage of it to educate local yougsters, through their schools, church, etc , about naturally growing wild rice. My cabin is on a small lake full of wild rice in the fall. Natural wild rice is very sensitive and diassapearing in many local lakes because it is so sensitive to environmental issues. Most youngsters know nothing about the role wild rice played in the lives of our local native populations (it sustained their lives and was revered as a gift from the great spirit), and I think they would be amazed at the work it took from the whole family to bring it through the stages of gathering, drying, roasting, threshing, winnowing and storing. I do it all and would like to share it with the kids along with some educational background of how the rice grows and it's relationship to our environment.
Just an idea. Not looking for an income, but could use a little financial help with getting some extra equipment, etc. I would have to start a nonprofit and that's an area foreign to me.
If you'd care to send me your address, I'll mail you a bag of my rice to "pay it forward" so to speak. I enjoy sharing.
And please share your fishing tales, hunting tales, or anything else you want to share. I'll be looking for them.
Jerry
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MikeOnBike
Member
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# Posted: 11 Feb 2011 03:17pm
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I didn't think I would have a 'fish' story since I don't fish much anymore but the mention of the sturgeon reminded me of an encounter at least 20yrs ago.
My brother and I used to make a little money cleaning pump houses on the river. This is where the large pumps are mounted to pump river water out onto the desert for irrigation. They need to have the silt mucked out every couple of years and occasionally the screens repaired that keep the fish out. We used scuba gear because the sumps can't be drained. Usually we worked in 6-10 ft. of water and zero visibility because of the silt.
I had just finished cleaning out a sump with a 5 gal. bucket. I would scoop the mud and hand the bucket up to my brother who would dump it on the bank. When I finished I squeezed out through the damaged screen and began floating along the bottom of the river bed to my climb out point about a 50 feet down the river. I was scoping out the bottom of the river with my light to see what I might find. I was in about 12 ft. of water but the visibility with the light was only about 1-2 ft.
All of a sudden I ran into something with the side of my face mask. I got it repositioned quickly and turned toward my 'attacker' and saw the face and body of a very large sturgeon go by. I got a the six inches away view the entire length of his body. It seemed like he was a monster 12 footer but in reality he was probably only 6-8 feet.
It was a harmless encounter but at the time it startled the cr&p out of me.
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Gary O
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# Posted: 11 Feb 2011 10:12pm
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Quoting: Jerry and would like to share it with the kids along with some educational background of how the rice grows and it's relationship to our environment
Jerry, if you can teach a youth your knowledge, get their hands in it, touch creation, learn the hows and whys, you'll ground 'em for ever.
I have yet to be discouraged with this endeavor. I've talked to more than a few now fully grown adults, and they remember every detail of their postive experience with nature as early teens. Even the once smart mouthed ones.
The memories, even after our passing, are, as you say, what we pay forward.
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Gary O
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# Posted: 12 Feb 2011 12:32am
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I too had a fishing buddy. Rob could pull a fish out of a mud puddle if it had a rock in it. He had an uncanny touch of what was happening at the end of his line, and stream savvy beyond my scope.
We fished most of the north coastal streams of Oregon together, going after sea run cuts, steelies, and salmon.
We'd spend the eve tying hooks, sorting lures and gear, and get our wives to pack us a lunch.
Off we'd go, swapping lies on the way, stopping at Staleys on hwy 26 to load up on bait, refill our mugs with hot coffee, grab some jerky, and head to whatever stream looked good that day.
One fine morn we decided on Beaver creek. The stream was pristine. A freshet, days before, made it a great prospect.
As our custom, we walked the creek, picking a starting point in the town of Beaver. Wading about a half mile downstream, we came upon the mamma johamma of fishing holes. The eddy, the depth, the tail out was the stuff of fishermen's dreams.
Rob decided to work it from the top, tossing his line close in, each cast drifting a bit further than the previous. Watching him was a study in precision. His worn vest bearing testimony to experience, held just a few choice lures, as he seldom snagged.
I chose to directly work the hole in the hopes of getting a much needed head start in putting keepers on my stringer. We each pulled in a couple fat cuts, and the day was looking productive when I spotted a rather large German shepherd loping down the hill towards me. Following him was a middle aged guy with no legs 'running' down the hill on his knuckles and leather torso pad. Rather unnerving, and distracting to my little adventure.
Stopping at the bank, Shorty, resting on his knuckles, watched for a while, then started throwing rocks in the hole.
Then Rin Tin Tin chased the rocks.
'How ya doin'?"
"Fine."
More rocks.
"Nice day isn't it."
"Yup."
More rocks.
"Let's see, this is public land, but your personal fishing hole, right?"
"Oh, you can fish here, I don't own it."
More rocks.
Cujo is now in a frenzy. Teeth bared, making those precious GGGRRRR noises that endears parents of small children.
"So, mind throwing rocks over there?" pointing to my buddy.
"No, I like it here, where I catch fish."
I reeled in, and commenced upstream towards Rob.
It turns into a game for Shorty's dog, as he plunges toward me, intent on maybe getting his master a couple new legs, mine.
Ever try to run or hurry when waist deep in a stream?
I yelled to Rob, "I THINK WE SHOULD FISH A BIT FARTHER DOWNSTREAM, DON'T THINK WE'RE GOING TO BE PRODUCTIVE HERE."
Shorty grunted something (apparently in canineese) and satan dog immediately retreated.
In town I found out no leg dog man was a local hero, had a big write up about him in the Reader's Digest.....and he was the mayor.
Rob and I talk about that place from time to time, and refer to it as the hole that got away.
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Jerry
Member
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# Posted: 12 Feb 2011 09:31am
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Gary,
Wow! That's some story, and you're some writer!!
As another buddy of mine used to say after telling a tale, "that's the truth, and if it isn't, it should be."
As I get older I sometimes think back and have to spend a few moments to separate fact from fiction. Your river fishing tale reignited my recollections of spring stream fishing for native rainbow trout in the streams flowing into Lake Superior where I live. It was the annual spring spawing run, and after a long winter the anticipation and preparation was always as much fun as the actual fishing.
Got any more?
Thanks, Jerry
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Gary O
Member
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# Posted: 12 Feb 2011 10:39am - Edited by: Gary O
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Quoting: Jerry Your river fishing tale reignited my recollections
That's what fishing tales are all about, Jer.
...and yes, the anticipation, as with most things and events, is just the most fun.
My shop is beckoning. It's kinda late in the day for me (7:30a), so, yes, I do have more stories, but hoping to read more of yours and others.
MOB's was a kick, and quite an uncommon experience.
And that's what makes a good tale.
I also got a good chuckle out of Any Mouse's tale of fishing off the dam.
I'll check in in a few hrs (after my back calls it quits).
Hope to see more yarns.
Gary O'
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Jerry
Member
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# Posted: 12 Feb 2011 05:03pm
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Gary,
What kind of work are you doing out in your shop? It's Saturday ya know.
Jerry
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Gary O
Member
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# Posted: 12 Feb 2011 05:33pm
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Quoting: Jerry What kind of work are you doing out in your shop? It's Saturday ya know.
Actually, putting it back together.
30 yr old daughter just moved out (be still my heart)
My saws were all jammed into one end of my shop, as I chose to put her stuff in the other end (save $70/mo storage)
My wood butcher itch is now getting scratched.
Love the daughter and her 8 and 11 yr old boys, but I love 'em a lot more when they're 3 mi away........
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Jerry
Member
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# Posted: 12 Feb 2011 09:35pm
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Gary,
I can relate. I'm sitting here enjoying a Crown Royal Black on the rocks and thinking over the last 32 years. My oldest daughter, the one mentioned in my sturgeon story, turns 32 tomorrow. She'll be coming to visit me tomorrow with her husband and daughter. They're great people; hard working, honest folks just trying to get by and enjoy life, and I'm proud of them as I am all my kids.
My only son Jake is living with us after he graduated from college last December, but will be leaving in a week for a new job in the oil industry, and his twin sister lives near us after she had some early life challenges, but because she's strong and smart, now has a nice family life.
Ya, I'm proud. They haven't always made the best choices, but their batting average is probably a hell of a lot better than their old mans. Just thought I'd take the opportunity to make myself feel good. Speakin of that, my Crown Royal needs attention. Nice talking with you. I won't be here for awhile, having surgery early Monday.
Jerry
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Gary O
Member
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# Posted: 12 Feb 2011 09:54pm
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Quoting: Jerry I won't be here for awhile, having surgery early Monday.
Give 'em hell Jerry. And tell 'em you just had your prostate examined........dang I hate those 'digital' exams..........
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Gary O
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# Posted: 13 Feb 2011 01:35am - Edited by: Gary O
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Early one fall, Rob and I discovered the guard rail hole on the Salmon river, between Otis and the hatchery upstream.
There was a gauntlet of anglers, elbow to elbow.
We watched.
You could see these brutes coming upstream, the wake from their dorsals making a vee.
Sometimes 3, 4 abreast.
About every 10-15 minutes someone hooked a fish.
Lines were retrieved.
Anglers waited.
Only one in six were successful in landing one.
There was a constant jabber from most until a fish was hooked.
Then everyone busied themselves, checking baits, hooks, lines.
It takes about 20 minutes to tire these hawgs out, and you need all the hole and more to give yourself a chance.
Some have the guts to let their line slack, culminating in pulling at the corner of the fish's mouth from downstream, prompting the fish to fight it by swimming upstream. It gives the angler more of a fighting chance, if the hook set is sure.
After an hour of watching, which isn't a bad tactic, no matter the pressure, a couple younger guys reeled in, packed up, and left. Rob and I looked at each other. We were both game. The young fella's had been in a less than desirable spot, on the upstream end of the hole. The older, retired gents had their spots way before dawn. Even if they hadn't, the spots would've been protected by their compadres.
We both hooked and lost fish.
Fall Chinook usually run 30 to 60 lbs. They'll straighten out the stoutest of stream rods, and it's a thrill to feel so much muscle at the end of your line. You can burn a hole in your thumb trying to keep your line from stripping to the backing.
The oldsters became more and more disgusted every time we hooked up, knowing it was in vain.
"Just give it a hard jerk, and enjoy your fish lips for dinner."
"Why don't you break the GD thing off, it's been twenty minutes?"
Rob broke off.
I immediately hooked another. An ol' geezer started barking at me, tossing his rod to the bank. Only I had a plan. Rob and I talked about the chances of wading the shallowest part of the hole and gaining a fighting position. The specter was the good chance of falling in, and my last conscience thought before drowning would be seeing and hearing old men scoffing as I drifted through the hole.
Turns out, the route I picked was apparently not the shallowest.
On tiptoes, leaning upstream, treading in places, keeping the line taut (not that there was an option) I got to the other, navigable, side.
This fish was a brute.
Rod straight.
Tugs coming hard.
Line heading downstream.
I'm scrambling now.
Falling over rocks.
Now sitting in two feet of water, my sandwich making its way out of my vest, floated merrily, merrily down the stream.... An old guy with catcher's mitts for hands, lifted me up by my armpits.
Something was not right. I never had fought a fish of this heft before, so I wasn't sure.
The fish was tiring.
I was tiring.
'Defibrillator paddles would be good about now', I thought.
The fish was spent, fighting now in spasmodic, vain attempts at freedom.
I nursed it up to the bank.
Steam coming from its heaving gills.
Steam coming from my heaving gills.
I did it!
I landed a fifty pound hawg!!
It was beautiful
In my triumphant elation I hadn't noticed that the hook was lodged in the gill.
Foul hooked!?
The beast had sucked the hook through it's mouth and out the gill, hooking on the intake!!
Thus the odd feeling that something was wrong...too much resistance, more like a halibut.
An old gent handed me his pliers.
Hathaway, the ODF&W warden, Don Knots of Otis, was on the other bank, arms folded, waiting for me to make a wrong move.
I carefully unset the hook, turned my trophy toward freedom, gently rocked him back and forth, and he was gone............
On the way home, Rob jabbered away at how he would have kept it..........it's a good thing we weren't hunting..............hunting 'accidents' are easier explained.......
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Gary O
Member
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# Posted: 13 Feb 2011 10:33pm - Edited by: Gary O
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OK, I'm on a writing jag.
It's pouring out.
I can't type fast enough.
Good or bad (I'm not editing drafts at present) here's the next one;
After several trips to the coastal system Salmon River, Rob and I pretty much new all the good holes. The best bein' right below the weir, of which was right below the hatchery.
Plenty of anglers ran lines thru there, the well beaten paths from the make shift parking area bore witness.
It was very accommodating. A wooded gentle sloped path traveled right to the beach. On the right about 30 yards upstream, the deadline stretched across the water. Within 20-30 yards up from that was the weir. Easy pickin's if one could legally fish there, as the returning salmon piled up, resting before negotiating the little overflowing dam.
But just below that was this beach, and there was plenty of opportunity to hook into these weary returning nomads, as they rested in any slow water available.
The river created this stretch of unhurried water from the restraints of a cut bank on the other side, curving into a rapid at the tail out.
Oak, bull alders and willows graced the opposing bank, lending their shade to the spent fish.
It was the first week of summer, arriving in the early dawn hour, we were the first there. So, as we were taught from conscientious anglers before us, Rob and I policed the area of cans, their plastic six pack holders, fishing line, fast food wrappers, Styrofoam, and the plastic bags that the slack jawed troglodytes brought them in, loading up our 'pack it in, pack it out' sack.
We studied the water. Late springers were everywhere. Their torpedo shapes moving up and coasting back, holding.
However, they were not taking.
Everything in every color we presented was ignored.
An hour had passed. Anglers were starting to line the gravel beach.
We were ready to head downstream, but I had my eye on a hawg that moved little, and hung directly under a dead fall oak, of which the river had undermined its roots the winter before. The old oak had made a natural platform about six to eight feet long, ending about two feet above where the old bruiser hung.
Spring Chinook range 15 to about 40 lbs, 30 lbs being the common nice sized fish in comparison to their larger fall cousins.
This one looked to be at least 30 pounds.
I forded the river thru the rapids, and grabbing the limbs, made my way down the log.
He was still holding.
I looped a fresh bait of eggs on my hook, and back reeled my presentation down and about three feet in front of his nose.
As the bait drifted toward him, he moved to the side to let it pass.
This happened several times.
I got on my knees and studied my elusive friend.
He had the look and size of a five salter, and had been thru a battle or two. Having only one eye, and what looked like a seal bite near his adipose, I dubbed him 'Lucky'.
He was a bit dark, not the black, or the 'so rotten they're white' look about him, but I bet he wasn't going back out.
I steered my bait to about a foot in front of his eyeless side.
No movement.
I brought my line back upstream and artificially drifted the now washed out roe to the front of his nose, but on the eyeless side again.
The spent eggs were an undulating cushion of veined textured goo, and I let it envelope his face.
No movement
No movement
Then
BAM!!
I had driven him a few clicks past irritation, and he was done with it all.
He turned his head and snapped at the bait in one split second move!
Watching this front row action was the thrill of my fishing lifetime!
He thrashed the water, anglers on the beach side started reeling in.
The fight was on!
He ran, making a huge wake, and then down.
It was all I could do to hang onto my rod.
SUH-NAP!
The fight was over as soon as it started.
I had forgotten to back off on the drag!
My usual custom of tightening the drag, getting a good hook set, and then backing the drag off was totally forgotten!
Apparently I'd let my mind focus so hard on getting Lucky to bite, as they are tunnel focused on one thing, going upstream......getting home, no time to dine at this juncture, that I'd disregarded what I'd learned about salmon, and that's basically you only get one chance, especially with late spring Chinook.
Lesser fish will let you recover a mental lapse. Once a salmon is hooked in a stream, its fight to the end, and they know all the tricks.
We traveled home without fish that day, but armed with the new knowledge that sometimes, when they are not biting, it not only takes great patience, the ability to adapt at presentation, and the right gear, but you must have the mental aptitude to remember the basics at the most critical time, in order to get 'Lucky'.
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cabingal3
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# Posted: 12 Mar 2011 11:04pm
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i am remembering back to when i got to fish for winter chinook and Gary O was helping teach me. I got one and he told me to play it.I was like oh heck no! i reeled that thing in and ripped it up onto the shore and jumped on it to protect it from flopping back into the water. i had heard too many of Gars fish getting lost one way or another.so we sure did have some good steaks that nite.whew.sure would like to have some right now.Gars Granny said rub crisco on them and salt and pepper and put them in the oven on broil.watch them.the skins get crispy and it gets done and turn over.oh yum.
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hattie
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# Posted: 19 Apr 2012 12:09pm
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Let's Go Fishing.....All you fishermen/women out there must watch this video. http://www.wimp.com/classicbloopers
 
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countryred
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# Posted: 5 May 2012 12:49pm
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Bass fishing,.....well , yep. Been there , done that. I used to live , eat, sleep, pray, think, bass fishing and bass tournaments 24/ 7. Settled down and now I take my wife and daughter after sunfish a few times during the warmer months.
Lots of fun days and stories,...........
Having a small spotted bass hooked on one treble while my thumb was hooked on the other treble on a topwater plug. Buddy had to yank it out.
Had my buddy run to the front of the boat to net my fish and once he got up there the boat's trolling motor shaft hit a log sending him flying off the front. He was ok,..bad news was it a rather small fish.
Had baby alligators chase my lures back to the boat, a whole flock of pelicans crap in my boat while circling overhead, etc etc..
Its a lot fun, catching them different ways from on top to 60' deep.
Smallmouth are a blast because they fight so hard and jump a lot.
We fish mostly shallow dingy water here so we flip around heavy brush and cover and have to pry them out. Heavy rods, short line and a big angry bass gets pretty exciting.
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