I've already posted a lot of my old write-ups but I was diggin' around in the files this mornin' and ran across this'n. I don't think I've ever posted it up in here.
I have posted up a couple of others of my little stories without re reading them and gotten dinged for my haste. I have gone through this and edited it and sanitized it until I believe it is presentable to the general membership here.
It makes me smile every time I think about this day. It was a lot funnier than my ability to tell it but I hope you'll all get a chuckle out of it.
*************************
A Bad Day On Lake Conroe: A fishing story from Hell
It was a beautiful summer day in July of 1976 (give or
take a year) and I was fishing in my bass boat with a
guy I worked with. This guy LOVED fishing but he was a
poor money manager and never could get up the bucks to
get his own boat and he was alway so busy with his
church and scout mastering activities that he rarely
got a chance to fish. After a meeting one Friday, I
put tears in his eyes when I invited him to fish with
me the next morning. He stopped short of hitting his
knees and kissing my feet, but his gratitude was hard
to miss, none the less.
We were in the first cove on the east side of the Lake
Conroe Jungle when first light broke. We were both
taking some nice 2 pound black bass on Bagley's bang-o
lures and the day was off to a good start. As the sun
warms things up the action in the coves begins to fade
and I would usually head for the Jungle around 0830 to
0900. I never anchor or tie up, just troll around here
and there seeing what I can dig out from behind
various tree stumps or brush piles, etc.
My friend mentioned that he had to answer natures call
around 0930. No, it was the kind that usually requires
a sitting position for all but the toughest of men.
Anyway, I tied us up to a dead tree at his request (I
offered to return to the marina for his convienence,
but he didn't want to wast that much of his precious
fishing time just for a potty run).
So he climbs up into the tree from the boat and gets
himself situated in a position where he is able to
squat on one branch and hold onto a branch just above
his head while he is in the squatting position. He
unbuckled his belt and dropped his jeans and shorts
and commenced to doing his business. Just as he was in
the middle of this, afore mentioned business, his
wallet, change and keys all fell out of his pockets
and into 7 feet of water, according to my Humminbird.
He began to freak out and I knew down deep in my
fishing heart that the day was going to go down hill
from that point on.
He cleaned up as best he could and dressed and came
down from the tree and got back into the boat and was
BEGGING me to jump with him into the water and help
him find his wallet and keys. Now, don't get me wrong,
I like the guy, I really do, but I don't like him THAT
much. I ain't jumpin' into nobody poop spot, no sir,
not even for my OWN wallet and keys. He is then forced
to go it alone and go it alone he does. He spent about
15 or twenty minutes diving and searching...never
found a thing, although I did imagine a time or two
that he had SOMETHING in his hair when he came up for
air.
Now, with his bubble busted and all the wind out of
his sails he was so discouraged that he wanted to go
home...fine, we went home. He had left his car at my
house and he had a set of "hide out keys" in one of
those little magnetic boxes behind the bumper. He
silently got out of my car, got his gear out of my
boat, got into his car and drove off.
From them on, every time I'd invite him fishing he'd
just turn red in the face, do a 180 and stomp off in a
huff. Some people just can't see the funny side of
life, I guess....W. J.
I have posted up a couple of others of my little stories without re reading them and gotten dinged for my haste. I have gone through this and edited it and sanitized it until I believe it is presentable to the general membership here.
It makes me smile every time I think about this day. It was a lot funnier than my ability to tell it but I hope you'll all get a chuckle out of it.
*************************
A Bad Day On Lake Conroe: A fishing story from Hell
It was a beautiful summer day in July of 1976 (give or
take a year) and I was fishing in my bass boat with a
guy I worked with. This guy LOVED fishing but he was a
poor money manager and never could get up the bucks to
get his own boat and he was alway so busy with his
church and scout mastering activities that he rarely
got a chance to fish. After a meeting one Friday, I
put tears in his eyes when I invited him to fish with
me the next morning. He stopped short of hitting his
knees and kissing my feet, but his gratitude was hard
to miss, none the less.
We were in the first cove on the east side of the Lake
Conroe Jungle when first light broke. We were both
taking some nice 2 pound black bass on Bagley's bang-o
lures and the day was off to a good start. As the sun
warms things up the action in the coves begins to fade
and I would usually head for the Jungle around 0830 to
0900. I never anchor or tie up, just troll around here
and there seeing what I can dig out from behind
various tree stumps or brush piles, etc.
My friend mentioned that he had to answer natures call
around 0930. No, it was the kind that usually requires
a sitting position for all but the toughest of men.
Anyway, I tied us up to a dead tree at his request (I
offered to return to the marina for his convienence,
but he didn't want to wast that much of his precious
fishing time just for a potty run).
So he climbs up into the tree from the boat and gets
himself situated in a position where he is able to
squat on one branch and hold onto a branch just above
his head while he is in the squatting position. He
unbuckled his belt and dropped his jeans and shorts
and commenced to doing his business. Just as he was in
the middle of this, afore mentioned business, his
wallet, change and keys all fell out of his pockets
and into 7 feet of water, according to my Humminbird.
He began to freak out and I knew down deep in my
fishing heart that the day was going to go down hill
from that point on.
He cleaned up as best he could and dressed and came
down from the tree and got back into the boat and was
BEGGING me to jump with him into the water and help
him find his wallet and keys. Now, don't get me wrong,
I like the guy, I really do, but I don't like him THAT
much. I ain't jumpin' into nobody poop spot, no sir,
not even for my OWN wallet and keys. He is then forced
to go it alone and go it alone he does. He spent about
15 or twenty minutes diving and searching...never
found a thing, although I did imagine a time or two
that he had SOMETHING in his hair when he came up for
air.
Now, with his bubble busted and all the wind out of
his sails he was so discouraged that he wanted to go
home...fine, we went home. He had left his car at my
house and he had a set of "hide out keys" in one of
those little magnetic boxes behind the bumper. He
silently got out of my car, got his gear out of my
boat, got into his car and drove off.
From them on, every time I'd invite him fishing he'd
just turn red in the face, do a 180 and stomp off in a
huff. Some people just can't see the funny side of
life, I guess....W. J.
