@Buzzy mentioned something in the "Safety" thread that I thought might make an interesting / funny / informative thread on its own. Stories of how we've hooked ourselves or someone else, I suppose. I'll start with 3 incidents that stand out in my fading memory from a lifetime of fishing. There were probably more but others were of little significance due to the use of barbless hooks in more recent times. Sorry in the advance for the long story.
The first doesn't involve fly fishing and actually we weren't even fishing at the time but launching dad's boat from the village launch ramp in Penn Yan, NY, which we did almost every Sunday morning. Two things conspired in the "hookup" on this day. One: my father installed 'U' brackets under the gunnel of his small aluminum boat to hold the bows for his boat cover. Two: He had a habit of hanging lures from them rather than putting we lures back in his tackle box. As he started the motor and put it in reverse, I was on the dock guiding the boat back a few feet to jump in when my seat came by. As was my habit, as the boat slowly moved backwards, I slide my hands along the gunnel at which point the middle finger on my left hand became solidly attached to a Rapala Minnow which was solidly attached to the boat. Of course, dad was looking backwards with the motor running under his head as I dug my heals in the stop the boat with my right hand, so he didn't hear me yelling at him. When he couldn't figure out why the boat wasn't moving, he turned around and saw the situation. The look on his face was one I had and would see many times in our adventures together where his mistake led to my injuries (many long stories there). The lure was buried well beyond the barb and dad was too squeamish to deal with it (interesting because he was a ski patrolman in the winter), so I suggested we run up to the hospital because my girlfriend's father would be just getting there to check on his patients. I will spare you the story of the hook removal.
The next incident occurred while fly fishing the Rochester, NY local brown trout stream one windy evening. This happened while I still had hair and didn't routinely wear a hat. While making a rather long cast with the wind from my casting side (yeah, you see this coming) with a somewhat large, overly hackled dry fly I noticed the line moving forward drift over my head. Before I could duck that cream colored dry was buried in in the part on top of my head. It is amazing how much force there is in 20-30' of fly line sailing toward a target. It almost pushed me over. Well, there I was fly line hanging in my face and this fly on top of my head, so I was certainly going to need assistance in getting this barbed hook out. I cut off the tippet as close as I could and started for the parking lot. Since it was quite windy there weren't too many folks around, but I did run into a guy heading down the trail from the lot toward me. My problem was obvious because he started laughing 10' away from me and the SOB wanted no part of pulling that hook out. He suggested I find the doctor in Scottsville and walked way busting a gut. Oddly enough, that afternoon before heading out the latest issue of Fly Fisherman had arrived, and I skimmed an article called "How to release yourself". How ironic. To add more insult to injury, the only doctor's office in Scottsville was a pediatrician, who was still open. So there I sat in a tiny kid's chair in the waiting room with kids asking their mom, "what's that thing on that guy's head?" The doctor took one look at me and took pity on my situation usuring me into the exam room. Fortunately, she had recently learned of the technique in the Fly Fisherman article of running a line around the hook bend, pressing down on the eye of the hook and yanking it out so the barb passes out the hole it made coming in. I was back fishing (more carefully) in half an hour, and she didn't charge me figuring I paid with embarrassment.
Finally, the third incident didn't actually end up hooking me but was a scary reminder of the message @Buzzy was bringing up in the other thread - wearing glasses while fishing. My friend (only person I knew when I moved to Washington) called and asked if I wanted to join him and his wife on a float with Steve Joyce. You bet I do. It was a great day, doing a split float(s) on two parts of the canyon. I was in the back of the boat when an errant cast by his wife hit me square in the cheek, just below my right eye. We were nymphing, so I don't know if it was the fly or a split shot on the line, but it was quite a smack though I didn't get hooked. I was wearing glasses, but this reinforced my commitment to always wear glasses when fishing. Now I have to wear them just to see, but at the time I didn't.
The first doesn't involve fly fishing and actually we weren't even fishing at the time but launching dad's boat from the village launch ramp in Penn Yan, NY, which we did almost every Sunday morning. Two things conspired in the "hookup" on this day. One: my father installed 'U' brackets under the gunnel of his small aluminum boat to hold the bows for his boat cover. Two: He had a habit of hanging lures from them rather than putting we lures back in his tackle box. As he started the motor and put it in reverse, I was on the dock guiding the boat back a few feet to jump in when my seat came by. As was my habit, as the boat slowly moved backwards, I slide my hands along the gunnel at which point the middle finger on my left hand became solidly attached to a Rapala Minnow which was solidly attached to the boat. Of course, dad was looking backwards with the motor running under his head as I dug my heals in the stop the boat with my right hand, so he didn't hear me yelling at him. When he couldn't figure out why the boat wasn't moving, he turned around and saw the situation. The look on his face was one I had and would see many times in our adventures together where his mistake led to my injuries (many long stories there). The lure was buried well beyond the barb and dad was too squeamish to deal with it (interesting because he was a ski patrolman in the winter), so I suggested we run up to the hospital because my girlfriend's father would be just getting there to check on his patients. I will spare you the story of the hook removal.
The next incident occurred while fly fishing the Rochester, NY local brown trout stream one windy evening. This happened while I still had hair and didn't routinely wear a hat. While making a rather long cast with the wind from my casting side (yeah, you see this coming) with a somewhat large, overly hackled dry fly I noticed the line moving forward drift over my head. Before I could duck that cream colored dry was buried in in the part on top of my head. It is amazing how much force there is in 20-30' of fly line sailing toward a target. It almost pushed me over. Well, there I was fly line hanging in my face and this fly on top of my head, so I was certainly going to need assistance in getting this barbed hook out. I cut off the tippet as close as I could and started for the parking lot. Since it was quite windy there weren't too many folks around, but I did run into a guy heading down the trail from the lot toward me. My problem was obvious because he started laughing 10' away from me and the SOB wanted no part of pulling that hook out. He suggested I find the doctor in Scottsville and walked way busting a gut. Oddly enough, that afternoon before heading out the latest issue of Fly Fisherman had arrived, and I skimmed an article called "How to release yourself". How ironic. To add more insult to injury, the only doctor's office in Scottsville was a pediatrician, who was still open. So there I sat in a tiny kid's chair in the waiting room with kids asking their mom, "what's that thing on that guy's head?" The doctor took one look at me and took pity on my situation usuring me into the exam room. Fortunately, she had recently learned of the technique in the Fly Fisherman article of running a line around the hook bend, pressing down on the eye of the hook and yanking it out so the barb passes out the hole it made coming in. I was back fishing (more carefully) in half an hour, and she didn't charge me figuring I paid with embarrassment.
Finally, the third incident didn't actually end up hooking me but was a scary reminder of the message @Buzzy was bringing up in the other thread - wearing glasses while fishing. My friend (only person I knew when I moved to Washington) called and asked if I wanted to join him and his wife on a float with Steve Joyce. You bet I do. It was a great day, doing a split float(s) on two parts of the canyon. I was in the back of the boat when an errant cast by his wife hit me square in the cheek, just below my right eye. We were nymphing, so I don't know if it was the fly or a split shot on the line, but it was quite a smack though I didn't get hooked. I was wearing glasses, but this reinforced my commitment to always wear glasses when fishing. Now I have to wear them just to see, but at the time I didn't.
