Maybe it's the time of year, or maybe it's dodging a Mayan end of the world scare, but I started waxing nostalgic about some of our crazier experiences trout fishing. Like the numerous occasions my Dad would accidentally cast a lure through the mountain laurel such that the line was draped over a branch. As he retrieved his lure, a trout would hit it as it left the water, and we would have to walk up and unhook the suspended trout.
Then there was the time Dad hit his head on a wasp nest while fishing Deep Creek. Fortunately, it was warm that day, so I admonished him to dive under the water to free them.
Or the time he fell into a woodchuck hole while fishing Walker Camp Prong and broke his ribs. He finished the day of fishing and writhed in pain all night, until we finally went home the next day to see a doctor.
Then there was the time he sat down in the woods to, ahem, do his business, only to have his toilet paper fall out of his hand, roll down the bank, and into the stream. So much for creature comforts.
When my nephew Tommy was younger, we were driving back down Deep Creek from a day of fishing, and we saw a number of people standing on the bridge over the creek, waiting to jump into the water, and I made an off hand comment about rednecks. Tommy asked, "What is a redneck?". To which I responded, "Somone who jumps off of a bridge into the creek below." At that moment, Tommy saw his family waiting to jump into the water. "Hey, my Dad's a redneck! My Mom's a redneck! My sister's a redneck, and I'm about to be a redneck, too!"
For my 16th birthday, I went on my first backpacking trip. We were supposed to go along the Appalachian trail, and hike and fish down Kephart Prong in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park in July. It poured rain the entire time, and it was freezing. When we got to the lean-to we were to sleep in for the night, all the lower level bunks were taken. We bunked down on the upper level, with our sleeping bags soaking in the continuous dropping from the leaky roof. We proceeded to heat up and consume all our rations, including the Kool-aid, before giving up in disgust and hiking out the next morning. Just in case you had any doubt, warm Kool-aid is disgusting.
Then there was the time on Wilson Creek on a New Years Day a few years ago, that Matthew, tired of dealing with leaky waders all day, eventually ended up swimming in one of the pools to free a lure caught on the other side.
Our Alaska trip was a hoot, too. On our flight into Lake Creek in Alaska, we could see outside the 40's era float plane, as each air pocket flexed the duct tape holding it together. Also, in Alaska,, they treat rainbow trout as a junk fish, preferring to chase salmon. I met one fisherman that mentioned seeing a rainbow trout by accident when fishing for salmon, and the pesky thing was only 24" long.
Finally, one of the craziest days of fishing was when Dan hooked several of his lure's treble hooks into his knuckles when we were halfway in the middle of nowhere one cold April day. As I pondered getting out my video camera for a potential viral video, I saw Dan working up the nerve to address the situration. Finally, he did the unthinkable: he yanked the hooks out of his fingers, which will never be the same. I've never seen a Minnesota native shiver so much.
Well, I hope you have many great trout fishing memories in the upcoming year, preferably ones that don't involve pain.