Got some whacked fish stories?

[SurfnFish]

Start this thread with a couple:

-gear trolling the rivermouth from my skiff, hook up, King starts going crazy, runs up on the bank with a sea lion in pursuit, when suddenly a guy in a boat next to me jumps up yelling "non lethal rounds, non lethal rounds" and starts banging away at the seal lion with a revolver. Nails it, sea lion yelps and dives back into the river, I beach my skiff and grab the salmon. The shooter? A local county sheriff. Saw him at the take out, him and his partner had gotten skunked that session, filleted the King and gave him one side ..'you definitely earned it.'

Running the river in my driftboat, buddy points to a surface disturbance going on downstream, just before the next rapid, next to a large broken tree limb partially submerged...drop the anchor just upstream from the disturbance and let out line until I'm on top of it....good sized salmon rolling and thrashing just under the surface with blood leaking from gill, wrapped in line, hook in mouth...so net the salmon (want it on your license or mine?) and start tugging the line which is under branch, stuck, so glove up and have at it...busts loose, something at the end, keep pulling...and up comes a nice gear rod and reel ...next day at the beach, getting ready for a surf, another surfer pulls in next to me, guy who makes a living as a guide on the river...we're both getting in our wetsuits, yakking, asked him how the fishing has been for him...say's it's been slow, is still pissed off from the day before 'when one of the two guys I'm guiding hooks up a nice fish just as we enter some fast water, rod is really pumping, I tell him to hold on and we'll fight the fish as soon as we hit slower water, and the rod suddenly flies out of the guy's hands. F'n $600 outfit over the side'.....I started laughing, reached into my Suburban and pulled out the rod we'd picked up the day before.."Does this look familiar?'...the look on his face...lol

 

[Triploidjunkie]

I've told this story before, but not here, so I'll tell it again.
I was fishing on Rufus near the first set of net pens. I would park my truck at the boat launch (not there anymore) and walk up the shoreline about a half mile until the water got a little deeper.
About an hour into fishing a saw a big bear come down to the water and start drinking. He was about a hundred yards upstream. But after drinking his fill he started walking down the waterline right toward me. I yelled and waved my arms, but he just kept coming. When he was too close for comfort I started throwing baseball size rocks into the water at his feet. Finally, he reluctantly scrambled up the bank to go around me. I'm so used to bears I didn't give it much thought, even when a boat came by and the guys were yelling and freaking out about the bear behind me. I told them I knew, and it was fine. They motored off shaking their heads. Right then I hook a real nice fish. It's splashing and thrashing around in the shallows, and as I was just about to land it, it came unhooked. The line came flying back, and I just pivoted 90 degrees and was going to use the momentum to recast in one movement. But as I turned, the bear was right there! It had circled around and snuck up trying to steal my fish. He was looking over my shoulder. It was purely reflex, and the exact opposite of what one should do in that situation. I whipped my fly rod down across the bear's snout, breaking the rod in half. The bear backed up a couple steps and gave me a sad look, the same look a puppy gives you when you spank it. Then it seemed to slowly remember it was a 500+ pound bear, and started to get angry. I backed away as it started to huff and jump up and down. There was a big boulder right there, about the size and shape of a Volkswagen beetle, I stepped behind it just as it charged. It chased me around that boulder for what felt like hours, but was probably only ten or fifteen minutes. He even tried switching directions to try to trick me, but I was just tall enough to see over the rock, and keep it between me and the bear. I tried calling everyone I could think of close by that would have a gun in their truck, but nobody answered. It finally lost interest and wandered away... The same way I had to go to get to my truck. I gave him a good half hour, then made my way back, expecting him to jump out of every bush.
A game warden shot and killed him the next night, when he came up to the boat launch and took a stringer of fish right out of some fishermen's hands. Turns out it was a problem bear, the local dump bear, that had gotten quite fond of fish guts left by fishermen at the boat launch. He started wanting the ones that weren't even gutted yet.

 

[SurfnFish]

I've told this story before, but not here, so I'll tell it again.
I was fishing on Rufus near the first set of net pens. I would park my truck at the boat launch (not there anymore) and walk up the shoreline about a half mile until the water got a little deeper.
About an hour into fishing a saw a big bear come down to the water and start drinking. He was about a hundred yards upstream. But after drinking his fill he started walking down the waterline right toward me. I yelled and waved my arms, but he just kept coming. When he was too close for comfort I started throwing baseball size rocks into the water at his feet. Finally, he reluctantly scrambled up the bank to go around me. I'm so used to bears I didn't give it much thought, even when a boat came by and the guys were yelling and freaking out about the bear behind me. I told them I knew, and it was fine. They motored off shaking their heads. Right then I hook a real nice fish. It's splashing and thrashing around in the shallows, and as I was just about to land it, it came unhooked. The line came flying back, and I just pivoted 90 degrees and was going to use the momentum to recast in one movement. But as I turned, the bear was right there! It had circled around and snuck up trying to steal my fish. He was looking over my shoulder. It was purely reflex, and the exact opposite of what one should do in that situation. I whipped my fly rod down across the bear's snout, breaking the rod in half. The bear backed up a couple steps and gave me a sad look, the same look a puppy gives you when you spank it. Then it seemed to slowly remember it was a 500+ pound bear, and started to get angry. I backed away as it started to huff and jump up and down. There was a big boulder right there, about the size and shape of a Volkswagen beetle, I stepped behind it just as it charged. It chased me around that boulder for what felt like hours, but was probably only ten or fifteen minutes. He even tried switching directions to try to trick me, but I was just tall enough to see over the rock, and keep it between me and the bear. I tried calling everyone I could think of close by that would have a gun in their truck, but nobody answered. It finally lost interest and wandered away... The same way I had to go to get to my truck. I gave him a good half hour, then made my way back, expecting him to jump out of every bush.
A game warden shot and killed him the next night, when he came up to the boat launch and took a stringer of fish right out of some fishermen's hands. Turns out it was a problem bear, the local dump bear, that had gotten quite fond of fish guts left by fishermen at the boat launch. He started wanting the ones that weren't even gutted yet.

fuuuuccckkkkk...

 

[RichS]

I was on a short boundary waters trip in late September. I was mostly there to jig for walleyes on Lac La Croix but always trolled a big jointed Rapala while traveling. I jigged a couple of days and landed several walleyes and some nice smallmouth and then headed back out. A nice trip with a couple of lakeside meals of walleye.

As I paddled along I hooked what turned out to be a nice northern of 6-8 pounds. I was traveling light and didn’t bring a net with me. The fish did what northerns do.. it gave up early and then did power dives each time it was alongside the boat. When it seemed to be tired and manageable I reached down to grab it across the back right behind the gills (you can’t very well lip a northern). The fish thrashed and dove. I ended up with the back treble hook in my hand while the fish remained hooked on the front treble and was still swimming the water vigorously. This hurt a fair amount and I was hanging over the side of the canoe trying gain some semblance of control. Finally got the fish unhooked but one hook of the treble was buried deep in my thumb.

At this point I was about 12 miles and 4 portages from the truck. It seemed like a good idea to just paddle out and go to a doctor but I couldn’t paddle. Tried to pull it out with a needle nose, which didn’t work. I eventually got the hook out using a sudden jerk with a fishing line around the hook bend. All of this took a couple of hours and I didn’t reach the truck until well after dark. Probably the dumbest and most painful fishing adventure I have had.

On another occasion a buddy and I were trolling for walleye in the St. Louis River when I hooked and landed a Muskie of about 8 or 10 pounds on a trolled spinner/ night crawler rig. I grabbed this fish behind the head and held him up for a quick picture. The fish thrashed, came out my hand and fell in the river. On the way by his teeth caught my hand. Still have a scar from that one.

The bottom line is that members of the pike family need to be treated with care.

 

[Cabezon]

Not a fishing story, but a strange fish story for sure. I was on a night-dive on the Great Barrier Reef as part of a multi-day live-aboard dive trip. My buddy and I have dive lights to navigate and see the reef creatures at night. But giant trevally have learned to follow divers because the lights can expose reef fish that are sleeping. Nemo gets munched if the divers aren't careful. Several schools of 40-80 pound giant trevally are zooming around us, along with red snappers, and even a few black-tipped reef sharks.


I reached out my bare non-dive-light hand to point out an unusual sea cucumber to my dive buddy. A giant trevally sees the flash of my hand and thinks that it is a fish and rushes around my shoulder to bite my hand, hard. Of course, I try pull my hand of its mouth (maybe with a squeal too). After a few head shakes, I succeed, but now I have a dozen parallel scratch marks on the back of my hand and another ten on the ball of my thumb from its teeth.


Great, I'm bleeding on the GBR at night and there are sharks around... Well, my buddy and I were almost to our air limit anyway and we headed back to the boat. The crew had NEVER seen (or heard stories) of this happening before. They gave me some antiseptic cream to apply to the scratches. Fortunately, none became infected.
I am looking forward to a future trip to Christmas Island where I will extract my revenge on the GTs...
Steve

 

[Dave G]

I was on a Deschutes trip when the guide stopped to make us for lunch. (Abject luxury... but hey - someone's gotta do it)
I had fished that spot before and headed to one particular pool to try my luck. Sure enough I hooked a gorgeous redside. I was in the process of untangling and unhooking as a raft with a young couple in bathing suits rafted by me. I waved and continued what I was doing.

When I got the fish out of the net and back into the water I realized that somewhere along the line I had dropped my rod. I wasn't feeling too pleased with myself as I walked back down the riffle, adding up the amount of money I would need to spend to replace my rig. I was really feeling pretty down on myself when I looked up and saw that the young couple had stopped at the bottom of the riffle and the woman leaning over the side. She groped a bit in the water and came up with my rod!

I nearly hung it up at that point when I realized that it might never get any better than this. First I catch a great fish right where I thought it would be (is there anything so satisfying?) then I lose my rod, and then a half-naked woodland sprite reaches in to the water like the Lady of the Lake to hand me Excalibur.

 

[SurfnFish]

Not a fishing story, but a strange fish story for sure. I was on a night-dive on the Great Barrier Reef as part of a multi-day live-aboard dive trip. My buddy and I have dive lights to navigate and see the reef creatures at night.

Used to surf Fiji, became friends with another surfer who ran a dive operation....I'd tag along sometimes when he had room in his 26' dive boat...go over the side 10 miles offshore from Vitu Leva, local guide diver named Sammy had a line from his leg up to the orange spotter buoy, let the current push us across the reef while the boat followed behind. At one location, Sammy paused and beckoned me to join him, pointed to a large opening in the reef. Cautiously kicked in behind, banging my tank on the entrance, wondering what hell...Sammy snapped on his light, we were in a cave that was literally lined with lobsters, thousands of them...stunning vista.
My youngest son went on walk about after graduating college...ended up in Malaysia working for a dive company, became Divemaster certified, his pics of his year spent there are amazing. Now he's a Senior Director at Google, go figure.
Wife loves snorkeling, here she is with my son snorkeling inshore Fiji during one of our 90's trips.

 

[Old Man]

I have fished damn near every way possible. Here's two stories while fishing spinners. Found a spot where you could fish the Ebby slough from the top of the dike and still be half assed close to the water, me and my brother were using spinners. We were standing close together and throwing/casting over head. Well my brother casted a little bit side arm and in the process of casting he hooked me in the back of my head. I was kind of pissed off but the hook on the spinner came out clean. No reason to go off pissed off.

The second one was all my fault. Was fishing the Tolt upstream from the bridge in Carnation. I cast across the river and hooked up on a tree on the opposite bank. I was using 4 lb. test line. I said this is where I lose a spinner.. So I reeled up and was backing up to get the line to break. It popped out of the tree and came straight back like a bullet . It hit me above the belt and one barb hit me in the stomach and I was impaled at my waist line. I tried to shove it though but it hurt to bad. It was a Saturday and we were close to Redmond. I was using my Luv p/u, no canopy thank goodness. I lay in the back of my p/u while my brothers buddy headed to Redmond and a clinic to get the spinners hook out of me. The doc got it out of me and we went back to fishing. I wasn't hurt bad enough to quit fishing.

 

[Dave Westburg]

Not a fish story but a mishap story. Pinch your barb. The exit is easier. And fish a longer rod to keep the fly out of your face...or someone else's face. I was on the oars while my fishing partner threw size 8 dry sedge with an 8' bamboo rod for kamloops as we drifted along the edge of a shoal on a windy British Columbia lake and a gust of wind did this...

The fly was buried past the barb in the columella of my nose. It's really tough and not fleshy. Needed a big leatherman to remove. Don't like thinking about it even now.

 

[_WW_]

Not a fish story but a mishap story. Pinch your barb. The exit is easier. And fish a longer rod to keep the fly out of your face...or someone else's face. I was on the oars while my fishing partner threw size 8 dry sedge with an 8' bamboo rod for kamloops as we drifted along the edge of a shoal on a windy British Columbia lake and a gust of wind did this...
View attachment 12371
The fly was buried past the barb in the columella of my nose. It's really tough and not fleshy. Needed a big leatherman to remove. Don't like thinking about it even now.

My eyes are tearing up just looking at that photo!

 

[SurfnFish]

when I was running sportsfishers, used to run a Ling Cod trip 1x a week, restrict the passengers to 24 (65' was licensed for 48) most used the sandabs for bait that we would load up on at the 3 mile flats before heading out to the 12 mile reef. Some, however, used chrome bars with treble hooks...was always warning those customers no overhanded casting, strictly underhand with rod tip outside the boat....used to keep a pair of side cutters just for hook removal, performed a handful yearly, mostly Shrimp flies, few trebles, gave customers a choice of having me roll it through and clip it off if appeared safe to do so, otherwise live with it until we return to dock... had an idiot one trip who kept casting his jig OH from the stern, told him I was gonna set him down if I saw him do it again....I'm forward gaffing a ling, hear this high pitched screech, hear my deckhand yell my name, I go trotting back, find the idiot has buried the treble hook of his ling bar into his own ass....told him I wasn't touching the hook, did use the sidecutters to clip the bar free from the hook...idiot tied on another bar and went back to fishing, cigar in mouth, rapidly dissapearing six-pack at his feet...and a 5/0 treble hook buried in his ass...

 

[John Svahn]

I dont remember this but it is a story in my family history. When i was a toddler i lived in San Diego with my grandparents. My Nonnie used to take me to Shelter Island pier to watch people fish. (She also taught me to fish). Someone had a beak fish in a bucket which was almost my height. I looked in the bucket right when it flopped out scaring me. At the same time someone attempted to overhand cast, a no no on the pier. It snagged Nonnie’s sweater and kep her from grabbing me. I’m sure she gave the person who snagged her an ‘eh che cazzo!!’ I was running around screaming ‘that god dammed fish’ to anyone and everyone on the pier. I have had a foul mouth ever since!

 

[NukeLDO]

From another forum on the NE coast....I've never forgotten this one posted by Haverodwilltravel:

Back in July this year. Too much to drink the night before, and bad food. I'm driving from Weekapaug headed to Quonny. I get to the light and the gut starts talking to me REAL LOUD. Now I'm debating...go straight and hit the Mobil or take the right and hit the potta-potties ( if any of you listen to Howie Carr you know the reference )I go right. About 10 seconds down the road my A-hole is screaming at me, should of gone straight. There are about 5 vehicles behind me. I'm sweatin it as my butt hole is clenched as tight as possible but the fist in my stomach is doin' its damndest to push out the foul mixture. I look in the back of the van. I don't have a googan bucket ( bad, very bad ) no where to pull over and dump. I look back again and see my eel cooler ( soft six pack cooler ) of course it has a 1/2 dz. eels in it w/ ice. next to the cot. Decision is now be'in made for me. Thank God I didn't have my neo's on. I practically power slide over to the side of the road and bail into the back. Drop trough as I am unzipping the cooler. Of course I forgot to slam it into park so the van starts mvoing the same time as my bowels. I just reached over and bang it into neutral for the time being " Ka Thunk " ( no, not my A hole the tranny ). I grab hold of the cooler and don't even get to a squat and projectile crapping has commenced. Well let's just say the eels became pretty active suddenly and that cooler was filling up too quick. I look out the back of the van windows and who's sitting there? Yep, Charlestowns finest. He walks up to the drivers window and the smell must have been the trigger. I'm looking through the side window at him and he probably an only see my siloutte ( tinted ). He asks " is everything OKAY in there? I'm ****tin my pants both ways! I reply I needed a sudden restroom break and that currently the back of my van is Rhode Islands newest Porta Potty. He kinda chuckels and walks over to the side where the sliding door is. I crack the sliding door and he pulls it back about a foot and looks in. Now he can see the cooler.

Now the funny part... The eels are squirming around in the plastic bag under this pile of ... and his eyes are like... OH MY GOD. He turns around gagging. Now I'm laughing and crapping at the same time. He walked back to his patrol car and pulled away. I kid you not. He must have thought I just gave birth to the spawn of Satan. I grabbed a roll of TP I always have in the van and proceed to finish up. That was one of the best ****s I have ever had regarding relief. I laughed quite a bit on my way to Quonny thinking... what would the ticket have been for?

 

[SeaRunner]

From another forum on the NE coast....I've never forgotten this one posted by Haverodwilltravel:

Back in July this year. Too much to drink the night before, and bad food. I'm driving from Weekapaug headed to Quonny. I get to the light and the gut starts talking to me REAL LOUD. Now I'm debating...go straight and hit the Mobil or take the right and hit the potta-potties ( if any of you listen to Howie Carr you know the reference )I go right. About 10 seconds down the road my A-hole is screaming at me, should of gone straight. There are about 5 vehicles behind me. I'm sweatin it as my butt hole is clenched as tight as possible but the fist in my stomach is doin' its damndest to push out the foul mixture. I look in the back of the van. I don't have a googan bucket ( bad, very bad ) no where to pull over and dump. I look back again and see my eel cooler ( soft six pack cooler ) of course it has a 1/2 dz. eels in it w/ ice. next to the cot. Decision is now be'in made for me. Thank God I didn't have my neo's on. I practically power slide over to the side of the road and bail into the back. Drop trough as I am unzipping the cooler. Of course I forgot to slam it into park so the van starts mvoing the same time as my bowels. I just reached over and bang it into neutral for the time being " Ka Thunk " ( no, not my A hole the tranny ). I grab hold of the cooler and don't even get to a squat and projectile crapping has commenced. Well let's just say the eels became pretty active suddenly and that cooler was filling up too quick. I look out the back of the van windows and who's sitting there? Yep, Charlestowns finest. He walks up to the drivers window and the smell must have been the trigger. I'm looking through the side window at him and he probably an only see my siloutte ( tinted ). He asks " is everything OKAY in there? I'm ****tin my pants both ways! I reply I needed a sudden restroom break and that currently the back of my van is Rhode Islands newest Porta Potty. He kinda chuckels and walks over to the side where the sliding door is. I crack the sliding door and he pulls it back about a foot and looks in. Now he can see the cooler.

Now the funny part... The eels are squirming around in the plastic bag under this pile of ... and his eyes are like... OH MY GOD. He turns around gagging. Now I'm laughing and crapping at the same time. He walked back to his patrol car and pulled away. I kid you not. He must have thought I just gave birth to the spawn of Satan. I grabbed a roll of TP I always have in the van and proceed to finish up. That was one of the best ****s I have ever had regarding relief. I laughed quite a bit on my way to Quonny thinking... what would the ticket have been for?

I lived in NJ and was an active reader of the site this story came from. I remember the post and agree it was the best of the bunch. There were a lot of funny stories on that thread.

 

[Greg Armstrong]

From another forum on the NE coast....I've never forgotten this one posted by Haverodwilltravel:

Back in July this year. Too much to drink the night before, and bad food. I'm driving from Weekapaug headed to Quonny. I get to the light and the gut starts talking to me REAL LOUD. Now I'm debating...go straight and hit the Mobil or take the right and hit the potta-potties ( if any of you listen to Howie Carr you know the reference )I go right. About 10 seconds down the road my A-hole is screaming at me, should of gone straight. There are about 5 vehicles behind me. I'm sweatin it as my butt hole is clenched as tight as possible but the fist in my stomach is doin' its damndest to push out the foul mixture. I look in the back of the van. I don't have a googan bucket ( bad, very bad ) no where to pull over and dump. I look back again and see my eel cooler ( soft six pack cooler ) of course it has a 1/2 dz. eels in it w/ ice. next to the cot. Decision is now be'in made for me. Thank God I didn't have my neo's on. I practically power slide over to the side of the road and bail into the back. Drop trough as I am unzipping the cooler. Of course I forgot to slam it into park so the van starts mvoing the same time as my bowels. I just reached over and bang it into neutral for the time being " Ka Thunk " ( no, not my A hole the tranny ). I grab hold of the cooler and don't even get to a squat and projectile crapping has commenced. Well let's just say the eels became pretty active suddenly and that cooler was filling up too quick. I look out the back of the van windows and who's sitting there? Yep, Charlestowns finest. He walks up to the drivers window and the smell must have been the trigger. I'm looking through the side window at him and he probably an only see my siloutte ( tinted ). He asks " is everything OKAY in there? I'm ****tin my pants both ways! I reply I needed a sudden restroom break and that currently the back of my van is Rhode Islands newest Porta Potty. He kinda chuckels and walks over to the side where the sliding door is. I crack the sliding door and he pulls it back about a foot and looks in. Now he can see the cooler.

Now the funny part... The eels are squirming around in the plastic bag under this pile of ... and his eyes are like... OH MY GOD. He turns around gagging. Now I'm laughing and crapping at the same time. He walked back to his patrol car and pulled away. I kid you not. He must have thought I just gave birth to the spawn of Satan. I grabbed a roll of TP I always have in the van and proceed to finish up. That was one of the best ****s I have ever had regarding relief. I laughed quite a bit on my way to Quonny thinking... what would the ticket have been for?

I know exactly where this guy was… my in-laws lived on Quonochontaug (“Quonny”) Pond.