Most comical moment fishing

The flying Scotsman

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Loving these old story threads and know there will be some cracking funny fishing stories that will cheer us up as talking about fishing is as close as we are all getting the now.
Anyway this story put a smile on my fishing partners face.
I was fishing the crooked pool south esk on my kirrie beat I was fishing a heavy fly as it’s a deep pool but real small. My £4.50 fly got snagged as it came out of the deep part so after a few flicks it came loose and stuck right in the well decorated tree behind me which I had to perform a few fancy casts to avoid.
Fly now adding to the trees decoration I took out my fly box tied another £4.50 fly on and proceeded to do the exact same :doh:
Snag
Tree
Fly gone
Raging by now and seeing £9 of my flies and double that in everyone else I though f*ck It I’m going to get a big stick and bring that well decorated branch down. With memories of Conker hunting as a lad inspiring me I finds myself a suitable big branch and launched it at the sparkly branch which it completely misses and promptly comes down and lands squarely on the lovely old bench which I had left my open fly box on :shocked::doh::rant:
To make it worse it had to be my fancy new box with the separate wee compartments with all my trebles, tungsten beads, wee silicone sleeves flies the works thrown 3ft in the air and dispersed amongst the 1ft high grass most never to be seen again.
You can imagine my response to my mate when he came down and asked how I was getting on :lol:
Like I said made him laugh anyway.
Let’s hear the fishing story’s that made you laugh.
 

Gauldalen

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Nice story! Thanks!
To follow up, I may ask the audience:*» Have you ever caught your a.s, while saumon fishing?*» :wow:
The answer is probably No! :fish: but I did!
While fishing a lovely Norwegian river, the Etne, I was using a very heavy copper devon to tackle the high water level! Suddenly, after a strong cast to get through to the other side, I felt a very painful blow in my back! Instinctively I pulled the rod and felt a very nasty sting on my backside! Instead of taking it easy and understand what was going on, I tried to cast again, just hooking my devon even deeper in my buttock, as I did not have any waders, which could have protected me, just my fishing trouses. :noidea:
And There I was, hooked by two of the triple hooks in my buttock! To make a long story short, I had to be driven to Haugesund hospital to fix the problem! Needless to say that I became the laughing stock locally for quite a while! :fish:
 
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sgellert

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When I was a kid, I had this really cheap Ryobi spinning reel, where the bail had a tendency to flip over during the cast.
One of those times, the spoon with a treble, around size 4 I'd guess, got impaled in my lower lip :(

So I walked up to the road, hook in lip, to wait for my parents to come by.
We drove to the ER, and they had to borrow my sidecutters, since their small "surgery pliers" couldn't cut it.

My parents has probably told that story even more times than I have ;)
 

Rrrr

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Only one i can really think of off hand was earlier this season. First day we were allowed to spin as we are now fly only in feb. Id been fishing the fly all morning with no luck so started building the spinning rod. Tied on my favourate japanese yozuri lure and explained how it was a killer and told the story of how id caught a salmon by accident on it last season, (id been walking upstream randomly casting and just messing about and ended up landing an 8lb hen fish).
First cast no problem, second cast same again, 3rd cast and my fingers were abit numb and launched the yozuri about 30 foot up the tree on the other side of the river. Snapped my 20lb braid pulling for it and it just sat there waving gently in the wind. First came the calls of "how did you manage that" "did the wind get under it?" Etc.
Then the manical laughter started from the 4 or 5 lads i was fishing with. Also one of the head bailiffs i was fishing with helpfully waded out and did a video with full comentary of my achivement to post on the club facebook page.
I now have a tree named after me and every time a lost lure or flee is mentioned someone tags me in the post,
Also managed to put a brand new carrot rapala in another tree later that day but no one spotted it so kept it quiet.
 

bassfly

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Not funny at the beginning but a good ending.
After fishing in Canada for a number of years I realised that on some of the fast rock strewn rivers that a large amount of flies and end tackle would be lost. This got me into tying my own flies for the trips and sourcing cheap sink tip lines.
A few years ago we were fishing a particularly snaggy bit of river and two Welsh anglers joined us. One of the guys picked a spot and with his top of the range Hardy 15 footer, Hardy reel and a brand new Rio AFS kit started to cast a beautiful line into the fast flowing current. As the line swung to the dangle he lifted into a salmon which decided to head back to sea. A chinook without a doubt. He stood rod on hip admiring the bend in his rod as the line started to scream off the reel. Shouts of advice from myself and my fellow anglers for him to try and stop the run made little difference and the reel kept turning. The running line came out of the top ring followed by about 60 yards of backing and still the guy stood with rod on hip still admiring the bend in the rod.
Suddenly he started to wind the line in as the fish stopped its run and the line could be retrieved. The reel handle was being turned slowly and after encouragement from the bank he speeded up the retrieve. The running line was still a long way out of the rod tip when a huge salmon leaped into the air about 20 yards above the angler. It was huge and looked well over 30lb.
Unfortunately the line went tight still down stream from the place we had seen the fish rise. Disaster, £140 of Rio AFS still in the river and no amount of pressure would release it and in the end the line snapped. A very disappointed angler waded back to the back and was consoled by us all. He decided that he would need to go into town and buy a new Rio AFS kit which was a bit cheaper in Canadian dollars.
Before he departed one of our party, a canny Scot from Aberdeen, asked what he would do with the three tips he still had and offered the man 20 dollars. Now that was a bit cheeky but was accepted to our surprise as we thought the guy was still in shock. Not at losing his line but at the power of the chinook which until you have experienced it is a shock.
The moral is don’t sell your gear to cheap to a canny Scotsman and he knows who he is, Graham.
 

Cookie-boy

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Fishing the Castle Pool in the shadow of Lismore Castle on the Blackwater. I was following down behind my mate Dan Ponting, a 74 year old who suffered quite badly from Iritable Bowel Syndrome. I was 100 yards upstream from the road bridge where tourists would gather to watch the fishermen and Dan was 50 yards downstream of me. As he left the water I hooked a smallish fish and started playing it to an appreciative crowd. There was a willow tree on the bank and suddenly a bloody great bare **** protruded out through its weepy branches and fired a huge dump into the river. The crowd went wild! :lol:
 

Rennie

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I've had more than a few moments of complete hilarity, some at times almost debilitating the laughter was so intense.Following Cookie Boys example.
Many years ago on the river Trent, Mid January at Shelford.Me and a team mate drew Shelford Shallows.Plenty of feet of cold snow water running off, a real stinking cold North Eatster blowing across the river into your face, Umbrella's were a waste of time!, sleet and snow blowing in the wind.The chances of catching on the Shallows during the 5 hr match were less than zero.The favoured method was a big lobby, big lead, bung it out and hope to catch a chub(most never did!) a huge flask and a carrier bag full of butties were a useful back up.
Any way, the fashion at that time was a Bob Church one pice wax cotton suit, quilt lined, water proof and warm!.
So all in sounds(thats the start), umpteen 3oz grip leads got whanged out, rods propped skywards in their rests and we all waited to go home.
My pal did exactly the same!,Now one benefit to fishing Shelford was the opposite bank held Stoke Bardolph sewage treatment plant.The delightful odour being blown directly at you all day long, did take the edge away from a bucket full of butties and many a gipping and green face was often seen by the end of the match.
As it was a Sunday many of us were full of Saturday nights Gallon of Ale and some a nice tasty Ruby Murray too.My pal was no different and after an hour was beginning to suffer in silence..There's no real flood bank there, just a mile or so of completely open field behind you, the cows in it never hold still long enough to provide cover!(trust me I've tried!).
Deperation was setting in, my pals guts were bubbling away, they could be heard 3 pegs away and he had no choice other than to dash for the middle of the field to shouts and calls of "we know where you're going!".
Slight dip in the field provided cover, into it wrestle with the suit, get the thermals down and relief amongst the snow and hail.
Wrestle the thermals and suit back on and back to the box, fasten up the collar, pulled his flat 'at down and waited for home time.
The sewage works were particularly virulent that day and smelt vile!,With an hour to go, two team mate's bored witless came for a walk and to take the pee out of everybody.
Sat talking to my pal and they both commented on the sheer virulence of the sewage works and started gipping!.
It was then one of them noticed the rather large collection of George the Thirds in my pals hood!.
In his haste he's only crapped in his own hood!, he couldn't smell a thing for the in face wind and the sewage works opposite, but wondered why his neck was nice n warm!.
Thankfully the hoods were detachable and the lot got whanged into the river.
To this day he's never lived that down!.
Thats better than pulling the chestie's down for an urgent pee and filling the front pocket full in their haste! and I know someone who did that too!(not me!).
Eeee,isn't life funny!.
Pedro.
 

Sewinboy

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A few seasons back, after asking my boss, with cap in hand, “please can I book a few hours leave, and finish early today?”, to which he agreed, I drove the 40 miles to be on the lower Towy. It was late in the season and I had taken my fishing tackle with me to work, so that I would not have to go home to pick it up, saving time. I had rushed to the club car park, and covered some distance to my starting point, which was the head of the most beautiful pool. I quickly taped up the rod, selected the most appropriate shooting head. Tied on my leader, and selected the fly. I started to tie the fly on carefully. Applied saliva to the knot by placing the fly between my lips and accidentally stood on my leader driving one of the hooks of the double hooked shrimp fly straight through my lip. I could hear the hook point grinding against my teeth. Oh s@#t!!!

My immediate thought was a visit to the local A and E department was probably likely. I got my phone out, and revered the camera on it, and used it as a mirror to view the damage. I looked such a d@#k. Fortunately I managed to unhook myself, and nobody saw me. Reputation intact 👍😂

Another time, it was the first May bank holiday, I was fishing on Llandeilo Angling for Sewin. It was 12.30 in the morning, there was a full moon, but there was plenty of cloud cover which eliminated the full moon problem. I had switched to a 3 inch jambo surface lure and was at a glide that I do really well at. (Sadly the glide no longer exists as it’s now an ox bow lake). I would cast the lure out, and use a slow figure of 8 retrieve, just to keep in touch. Take a few steps and repeat. On this particular cast, I had retrieved much of my fly line, when I had a vey savage take, the kind you only seem to get when using surface lures. This take had ripped all the line off the floor at my feet, out through the rod rings. It was clearly a good size Sewin. After a while, the fish was getting tired and I started to shorten the line, but it just would not come in. It was absolutely solid. Then it dawned on me, when I had worked the lure back, the line that had fallen to my feet had become tangled, the fish had managed to pull all this tangled fly line out through my rod rings, but I was not able to pull the knotted fly line back through the rod rings. I had to put the rod down on the floor and play the fishing by hand lining the fly line. I did eventually manage to net a sparkler of about 7lb and untangle my fly line. The cloud cover then broke, shining brilliant moon light all over the river. I stood no chance of catching any more, so called it a night.
 

Tangled

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I saw a guy wade into a river without zipping up his expensive zipped waders. For a while he couldn't work out what was happening and fount it really hard going getting back out again. Laugh? Yup, quite a lot actually.
 

Wee-Eck

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I was fishing Lower Durris on the Dee and had walked up to the top of the beat from the hut downstream. For those who don't know the beat, that is a walk of nearly a mile. I was just approaching the Park bridge when 'the opposition' fishing Park from the opposite side drove up to the pool where I was heading. He obviously saw me and screeched to a halt at the top of the pool, jumped out of the car, got his rod off the bonnet and rushed down to the top of the pool and into the water without a wading stick. The next thing was that he tripped and dived straight into the water losing his rod at the same time. He surfaced mid river and managed to scramble back to the bank. I made a point of lying down on the bank with my legs in the air howling with laughter. The last I saw of him was he had stripped down to his Y fronts and was swimming into the river and diving under the water looking for his rod. I left the pool to him and started below the bridge. So there is a God!:D
 

firefly

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I was fishing Lower Durris on the Dee and had walked up to the top of the beat from the hut downstream. For those who don't know the beat, that is a walk of nearly a mile. I was just approaching the Park bridge when 'the opposition' fishing Park from the opposite side drove up to the pool where I was heading. He obviously saw me and screeched to a halt at the top of the pool, jumped out of the car, got his rod off the bonnet and rushed down to the top of the pool and into the water without a wading stick. The next thing was that he tripped and dived straight into the water losing his rod at the same time. He surfaced mid river and managed to scramble back to the bank. I made a point of lying down on the bank with my legs in the air howling with laughter. The last I saw of him was he had stripped down to his Y fronts and was swimming into the river and diving under the water looking for his rod. I left the pool to him and started below the bridge. So there is a God!:D
Witnessed quite a few comical situations as a guide myself, but once saw two anglers jump waste deep in the river when a Russian guide came out of the bushes roaring like a hungry bear. There was no hesitation at all, in they went. :lol:
But seeing a guy lose his rod like you did remains one of the funniest things I remember.
This angler was a bit eccentric, to say the least, he always wore a long duffelcoat when fishing, didn't want to know about those "modern" short wading jackets. When he came out of the river, he looked like carrying a sac of potatoes on his back.
Anyway, one winter, with the rivers being closed he wanted to try out reservoir fishing for a change. Gets to the water, runs to the only platform around the lake and tackles up. By the time I get there, he makes his first cast, puts the rod down and lights a cigarette. Upon asked what he was doing he explained he waited for the line to sink to retrieve his booby fly. I didn't have the time to tell him the lake harboured big fish and they liked sinking lures. The rod glided from the frozen platform, not slowly, but in a split second, whoosh and gone… . To this day I wished I had a picture of his face, with the cigarette falling from his widening mouth. Long story short, he spent the whole day in the rowing boat looking for his rod. Never found it, but all other anglers on the lake had the day of their lives, he could still be heard shouting and swearing from the lodge.
 

keirstream

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Not my story, but one told by Mick Bell in the middle of one of our many boozy sessions on the Dee. Mick, if you know him, in full flow and full of the Vino Collapso, is hillarious and great craic.:thumb:
Mick had been fishing the morning tide on the Cathedral Beat below Ballina Bridge with his very rotund pal, Charlie. Between them they had landed and killed 7 salmon, all gleaming straight out of the tide. They decided to head for breakfast as the tide turned but before leaving, Mick asked Charlie to take a photo of him with the fish in front of the bridge which was promptly done.
Charlie, not to be outdone asked Mick to do the same for him as he had caught 3 of the fish.
So, there is a very round and plump Charlie immediately below and in front of the bridge with Mick lining up the trophy shot. Out of the corner of his eye, he spies a wee Ballina woman complete with curlers and shopping bag, heading across the bridge. She stops above Charlie, puts down her bag, leans over the bridge, considers the girth of Charlie and the 7 fish at his feet and shouts down in the broad Mayo accent, "you'll be eating them all yersel, will ye, Ye fat fecker" She then picked up her bag and goes about her daily business as if nothing had happened, leaving Mick in a heap on the ground and Charlie a tad red round the cheeks.:lol:
 

Mattytree

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About 15 years ago I was in new Zealand for a few months ,driving around and trying to chase the fishing dream.
I came across a bridge at a likely spot and whilst gazing in to the pools below and watching a group of browns there was a a couple of big ones in the group, that where coming up once in a while and taking large bugs off the top, another fisher from Canada rocked up and we agreed to try and spot by pointing where the bigger fish where so we had a better chance.
Due to one side Being deeper you had to wade across from the other side which I did after climbing through head high plants and bushes and tip toeing across the river to keep my chest waders dry I got to a spot I thought looked suitable ... well the first cast lay short so I looked up my friend on the bridge who was pointing to an area of the pool so I tried again this time a big gust of wind caused the whole back cast to collapse and send the fly straight in to my forehead!
At this point I knew it was going to be a case of pulling The hook through and cutting off the barb so I started to make my way back , the slack line pulling the fly stuck in my head , the other guy is Hollering at me but I can’t hear him over the water ,I just about managed to make it to the bank without filling up my waders but had to climb up through the bushes again,the line getting caught and tugging hard on my head with every movement !! Finally at the top the guy comes over and asks why I didn’t just cut the line When I did it ?? Think in the Moment of horror of doing some thing so stupid it resulted in more stupidity any way I learnt from that day and have a photo to remind me.
 

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salmo76

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A similar story to Rennies. An older angler I met at work kept me going with stories of this secret loch high up in the hills above Oban that was full of large wild Brownies. Sworn to secrecy he even dug out an old OS map with the loch carefully circled. It was a fair drive and he hadn`t fished it for 15 years but an expedition was duly planned .

Come the big day we drove for miles up a single track road , parked up and then a two hour knackering walk across the hills. Got there full of expectations of the great day ahead which would make all this effort worthwhile. 1st hour passed , not a touch , 2nd , 3rd and 4th the same and so the day went on .

Half way through the day I suddenly got an urgent call of nature but this loch was high up with no bushes , trees , nothing to hide behind . I waited till old John went round the corner to fish a small bay.
Looked around and saw the only large enough rock on the shore which i could use to bury the evidence, so to speak . Deed done , rock carefully placed in the grass, no embarrassment , nicely handled I thought. A couple of hours later it was time for the long trek back and just before we left I was horrified to see John head for the rock, which he heaved up with both hands and threw into the loch, with the loud expletive, that`s what I think of you! Suddenly, he spotted the smelly goo on his hands , with an incredulous look he said , what is that? I was mortified and just couldn`t answer but the penny eventually dropped. He didn`t see the funny side , it was a long walk back.
 
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The flying Scotsman

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I’ve got another story from my good pal Pete.
Pete and his pal chic were fishing the Isla and Pete being the jammy git that he is has landed a few when chic and the other boys on the other side had nothing. After hooking another fish one of the boys opposite bank shouts over to chic “what’s your mate catching on?”
Well Pete was using an ancient American Indian fly called the badger matooka. Don’t know if anyone will know it. It’s more like a rainbow lure small hackle at the front pink body and a single badger hackle not wound but tied like a wing. Anyway Pete had a lot of success on this fly and affectionately called it the badgers ars€ So chic replies badgers **** mate. Boy looks puzzled and asks what’s a badgers ars€ look like?
You know what’s coming
It’s black and white stripes with a pink bit in the middle chic replies with his hand held up in a sort of small ok sign :D
 

salmo76

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About 15 years ago I was in new Zealand for a few months ,driving around and trying to chase the fishing dream.
I came across a bridge at a likely spot and whilst gazing in to the pools below and watching a group of browns there was a a couple of big ones in the group, that where coming up once in a while and taking large bugs off the top, another fisher from Canada rocked up and we agreed to try and spot by pointing where the bigger fish where so we had a better chance.
Due to one side Being deeper you had to wade across from the other side which I did after climbing through head high plants and bushes and tip toeing across the river to keep my chest waders dry I got to a spot I thought looked suitable ... well the first cast lay short so I looked up my friend on the bridge who was pointing to an area of the pool so I tried again this time a big gust of wind caused the whole back cast to collapse and send the fly straight in to my forehead!
At this point I knew it was going to be a case of pulling The hook through and cutting off the barb so I started to make my way back , the slack line pulling the fly stuck in my head , the other guy is Hollering at me but I can’t hear him over the water ,I just about managed to make it to the bank without filling up my waders but had to climb up through the bushes again,the line getting caught and tugging hard on my head with every movement !! Finally at the top the guy comes over and asks why I didn’t just cut the line When I did it ?? Think in the Moment of horror of doing some thing so stupid it resulted in more stupidity any way I learnt from that day and have a photo to remind me.
Seen the same thing whilst mackerel fishing one day near a local housing estate. Quite often, when fishing there, a group of young lads would come down , most of them pretty clueless about using a fishing rod . Anyway, as they all jostled together with treble hooked lures flying all over the place, the inevitable happened. Whack, as one of the youngsters got a treble deeply inbedded in the back of his skull ; at that the whole grouped left and solemnly marched back to their homes, with the boy with the rod ,line and lure still attached to his mates skull, walking behind as if he had a dog on a lead, little yelps coming from his mate. Funnily enough none of us thought to tell them to cut the lure off the line.
 
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Rennie

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Most of you North of the border won't get or understand this as it a Coarse Fishing tale.But I'll try to translate for you.
One winter I went on an open match(competition), any one can enter as long as they pay the fee's.There was a few bob to be won and hopefully to fish to catch.
Venue was the River Ancholme at Scunthorpe(dosen't that conjour a picturesque scene!).The Ancholme river isn't really a river but an interconnected series of drains and very slow moving rivers, all low land and most quite muddy and weedy.
I drew a peg(my spot to fish for the day) on Cadney Road at a place called Brigg.
This was highly favoured, the river was prone to being run right down to its bare bones by pumps and sluices to alleviate winter floods etc.This meant, it was a sea of mud, 18" or water and 2ft of fish, it were stuffed.
The technique was plastic fluro overtrousers, thigh waders and expect to get very very muddy.The natural river when run off like this shrunk to a few meters wide and a long slog through the deep gloopy mud to reach water and fish.
OWT YOU PUT IN THE MUD SANK WITHOT TRACE NEVER TO BE SEEN AGAIN!
So, you had a Warburtons bread bakery tray with long rope handles which you waded out and placed in the mud close to the waters edge.You then extended your box legs to maximum, put your box on the tray, hopped on and started to fish.Your intention was not to move again untill the match finished or the river started to rise to normal again!.
So this one particularly foul winters day, we are all slogging through the mud like a polar sled team but without Huskies all setting up and getting completely covered..It was blowing a hoolie and raining with it, the bloke below me got set up, out sat on his box and fixed his Umberella to the fitting on his box.He was what we call a Silly Old Gimmer, you couldn't tell him owt at all.As we waited for the match to start,I called to him and asked if he was OK like that, the wind was very strong!, he shouted back he was staying dry at any cost!.
It was at this point the wind gusted and it lifted him and his box clean off the bread tray, 4ft into the air, out onto the river and dumped him onto 18" of very cold water and gloopy mud!.The guy one below him fell off his box laughing, I nearly fell off mine.But he was laid there,floundering in the mire, his pole broken in a few places, all the drawers of his box floating off in what little current there was, the contents spread far n wide, his reels etc in the river.
Seroius thing was we couldn't get to him.It looked serious!, life threatening.Any way he righted his self, and honestly he looked like a Black n White Minstel, or the Golliwog off Robertsons Jam!.
Never have I laughed so much, there were grown men laid on their backs crying with laughter.
Poor guy had sod all left of his gear, got his box back, but just about every thing else was gone or broken.
Eventually we got him back safe out of the gloop and water.After the match, there was a whip round for him and the brass for the prize money was handed over to him.I know he didn't fair too badly after an insurance claim, but it shook him up pretty badly!.
To this day I can still see a huddled up Mary Poppins being lifted up into the air and dumped in the water!.
I know it was cruel to laugh, but honestly you really couldn't do any thing else!.
Pedro.
 
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The flying Scotsman

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Most of you North of the border won't get or understand this as it a Coarse Fishing tale.But I'll try to translate for you.
One winter I went on an open match(competition), any one can enter as long as they pay the fee's.There was a few bob to be won and hopefully to fish to catch.
Venue was the River Ancholme at Scunthorpe(dosen't that conjour a picturesque scene!).The Ancholme river isn't really a river but an interconnected series of drains and very slow moving rivers, all low land and most quite muddy and weedy.
I drew a peg(my spot to fish for the day) on Cadney Road at a place called Brigg.
This was highly favoured, the river was prone to being run right down to its bare bones by pumps and sluices to alleviate winter floods etc.This meant, it was a sea of mud, 18" or water and 2ft of fish, it were stuffed.
The technique was plastic fluro overtrousers, thigh waders and expect to get very very muddy.The natural river when run off like this shrunk to a few meters wide and a long slog through the deep gloopy mud to reach water and fish.
OWT YOU PUT IN THE MUD SANK WITHOT TRACE NEVER TO BE SEEN AGAIN!
So, you had a Warburtons bread bakery tray with long rope handles which you waded out and placed in the mud close to the waters edge.You then extended your box legs to maximum, put your box on the tray, hopped on and started to fish.Your intention was not to move again untill the match finished or the river started to rise to normal again!.
So this one particularly foul winters day, we are all slogging through the mud like a polar sled team but without Huskies all setting up and getting completely covered..It was blowing a hoolie and raining with it, the bloke below me got set up, out sat on his box and fixed his Umberella to the fitting on his box.He was what we call a Silly Old Gimmer, you couldn't tell him owt at all.As we waited for the match to start,I called to him and asked if he was OK like that, the wind was very strong!, he shouted back he was staying dry at any cost!.
It was at this point the wind gusted and it lifted him and his box clean off the bread tray, 4ft into the air, out onto the river and dumped him onto 18" of very cold water and gloopy mud!.The guy one below him fell off his box laughing, I nearly fell off mine.But he was laid there,floundering in the mire, his pole broken in a few places, all the drawers of his box floating off in what little current there was, the contents spread far n wide, his reels etc in the river.
Seroius thing was we couldn't get to him.It looked serious!, life threatening.Any way he righted his self, and honestly he looked like a Black n White Minstel, or the Golliwog off Robertsons Jam!.
Never have I laughed so much, there were grown men laid on their backs crying with laughter.
Poor guy had sod all left of his gear, got his box back, but just about every thing else was gone or broken.
Eventually we got him back safe out of the gloop and water.After the match, there was a whip round for him and the brass for the prize money was handed over to him.I know he didn't fair too badly after an insurance claim, but it shook him up pretty badly!.
To this day I can still see a huddled up Mary Poppins being lifted up into the air and dumped in the water!.
I know it was cruel to laugh, but honestly you really couldn't do any thing else!.
Pedro.
That made me proper laugh. Cheers
 

Aidan Rocks

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The Boll&ck hole

Over 20 years ago I used to fish the Gweebarra a lot. The first big tidal pool below the bridge in Doochary was stuffed with sea trout and salmon by mid summer. I had taken a friend from Scotland to fish for the first time in Ireland. It was bright sunshine and we were lying on the grass on the right side of river as you look downstream off the bridge. As fishing was slow I told him about the hole on the otherwise of the river. We called it the boll&ck hole and it was aptly named. It was a 30 yard long crack in the peat bank hidden by heather. It got its name as it was just wide enough for your foot it go in it and deep enough that the first part of your body that touched the ground was your boll&cks. Everyone I KNOW who fished that side of the river has fallen foul to it several times. Even when you look out for it you forget and still step in it. It actually knocks the wind out of you as well, so you would think you would remember, alas no. I had just finished telling my friend about the hole and how my two brothers had watched a poor old soul fall in it the year before. They had tried to warn him but were too late for that soul and all they ended up doing was laughing at him. Even though they tried not too when he shouted back 'Boys watch there is a big hole over here'. Well, at that point we were joined by another fisher on the opposite. bank. My friend said should we warn him. I said ' no,' as he was a local and everyone knows about 'Boll&ck hole'. So I watched in horror as no sooner had the words left my mouth than his right leg disappeared down the hole. We were much to pour shame, now unable to speak with laughter. God knows what he thought about the two guys opposite him, wetting themselves with laughter as he waited for the pain to ease and get his wind back. If that was you I am truly sorry. But I know some of you must know the same hole I am talking about. I just wonder what you call it.
 

SALMON RUSHDIE

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Fishing the Carnousie beat of the deveron at night for the sea trout my mate Gary noble who is feart of the dark and doesn’t like fishing alone at night had been plaguing me all week to go up with him so we were having a wee swally until pitch black a night of no moon so was jet black so I was set up and made my way down the bank from the top of the hill telling him I was away to the top of the beat to start but once out of sight I ran like fook back down river and as I was coming up behind him put on a big hairy werewolf mask and hairy big gloves we sweep his spaniel was sat in the boot looking out and Gary was opening up his box of flies in the boot with his head torch on I was right up behind him before the hackles came up on the back of sweeps neck and he was growling like mad gary felt something wrong the hairs stood on end on the back of his neck he turns round and shat himself I thought he was going to take a heart attack screaming like a little lassie he had to lie in the boot and I was on my back on the grass pissing myself nearly oot of breath giggling like a bairn he couldn’t tie a fly on for more than an hour after as his hands were shaking like a leaf pmsl every time he tells people about it
 

salmo76

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Back in the day on my local river when the night time seatrout fishing was great and very popular, there was a small group of local lads who fished most nights with a great deal of success. They were decent , friendly lads who loved their fishing but they also liked a good laugh and you had to watch out that you weren`t on the end of one of their practical jokes.

A few guys wanted to know what fly they were using and this was a great excuse for a wind up. A favourite reply was their secret "gonk" fly which had everyone puzzled. Eventually, during one dark night, after persistent attempts by one fisher to discover their secret, one of them relented and pulled in his line to show him the fly that was attached to the end. There, in all its glory, was one of those tiny little plastic gonks with the long purple hair, firmly whipped on to a 1/0 hook.
 

lowforcefly

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Most of you North of the border won't get or understand this as it a Coarse Fishing tale.But I'll try to translate for you.
One winter I went on an open match(competition), any one can enter as long as they pay the fee's.There was a few bob to be won and hopefully to fish to catch.
Venue was the River Ancholme at Scunthorpe(dosen't that conjour a picturesque scene!).The Ancholme river isn't really a river but an interconnected series of drains and very slow moving rivers, all low land and most quite muddy and weedy.
I drew a peg(my spot to fish for the day) on Cadney Road at a place called Brigg.
This was highly favoured, the river was prone to being run right down to its bare bones by pumps and sluices to alleviate winter floods etc.This meant, it was a sea of mud, 18" or water and 2ft of fish, it were stuffed.
The technique was plastic fluro overtrousers, thigh waders and expect to get very very muddy.The natural river when run off like this shrunk to a few meters wide and a long slog through the deep gloopy mud to reach water and fish.
OWT YOU PUT IN THE MUD SANK WITHOT TRACE NEVER TO BE SEEN AGAIN!
So, you had a Warburtons bread bakery tray with long rope handles which you waded out and placed in the mud close to the waters edge.You then extended your box legs to maximum, put your box on the tray, hopped on and started to fish.Your intention was not to move again untill the match finished or the river started to rise to normal again!.
So this one particularly foul winters day, we are all slogging through the mud like a polar sled team but without Huskies all setting up and getting completely covered..It was blowing a hoolie and raining with it, the bloke below me got set up, out sat on his box and fixed his Umberella to the fitting on his box.He was what we call a Silly Old Gimmer, you couldn't tell him owt at all.As we waited for the match to start,I called to him and asked if he was OK like that, the wind was very strong!, he shouted back he was staying dry at any cost!.
It was at this point the wind gusted and it lifted him and his box clean off the bread tray, 4ft into the air, out onto the river and dumped him onto 18" of very cold water and gloopy mud!.The guy one below him fell off his box laughing, I nearly fell off mine.But he was laid there,floundering in the mire, his pole broken in a few places, all the drawers of his box floating off in what little current there was, the contents spread far n wide, his reels etc in the river.
Seroius thing was we couldn't get to him.It looked serious!, life threatening.Any way he righted his self, and honestly he looked like a Black n White Minstel, or the Golliwog off Robertsons Jam!.
Never have I laughed so much, there were grown men laid on their backs crying with laughter.
Poor guy had sod all left of his gear, got his box back, but just about every thing else was gone or broken.
Eventually we got him back safe out of the gloop and water.After the match, there was a whip round for him and the brass for the prize money was handed over to him.I know he didn't fair too badly after an insurance claim, but it shook him up pretty badly!.
To this day I can still see a huddled up Mary Poppins being lifted up into the air and dumped in the water!.
I know it was cruel to laugh, but honestly you really couldn't do any thing else!.
Pedro.
God Pedro...that brings back some memories....used to fish several Winter league, & open, matches a year on the Ancholme. Can remember, on more than one occasion, having to hold the pole tip in the ice flow to create a gap behind it for your float.
It was a mucky hole, but I don't think it could match the river Hull ? We each used to take a full sized pallet to put your box on. Always felt guilty, you used to leave it in when you left, everybody did, mainly as you couldn't get it out once it had sunk into the mud ?
I always thought the Ancholme was one of the fairest winter venues going, there wasn't many pegs where you did not have a shout. It was weird though, fishing in 2' of water, and catching fish, with it so cold that ice was flowing down it ?
I remember causing a real argument during a NY SD winter league match on kirk Bramwith, on the Stainy. I had been drawn four weeks on the trot in the 90's, in freezing weather :doh:
On one match I, like everybody around me, could not buy a bite. Then I noticed some very small fry, of god knows what species, swimming inside my keep net. Looking in my in my box of squatts i noticed there were some really small ones, so using tweezers, picked a couple up, and dropped them in the net. they were immediately scoffed by the fry...a light went on ! Hook...26 ultra fine wire, bent to close the gape, several takes later got one to stick.....Whooopee !
Problem....rules for the league....any fish to be weighed had to be kept in your keepnet ? This little Bu**er had swum in...so it could also swim out....enter Drennan bait box....fish in box, lid on, box in net ...sorted ! Scales came down, and to utter amazement, I had something to weigh....the DoDo hit the Whirly thing, when I tipped the bait box out of my net, then tipped the fry out of said box, into weigh net...there was uproar !, but as it was clearly a fish, pair of eyes really ?, and even though it didn't move the needle, rules said it had to go down as 1/4 oz...the look on scales man's face was classic. 15 either side of me blanked that day, and I pocketed the £50 section win:peace:
In those 4 matches, drawn in the nineties, took the section 3 times, and blanked once.
Total weight over the 4 ...3 1/2 oz...and one was a 3 oz perch ?
Those were the days....I must have been Fri**in mad !:help:

Mel....
 
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Walleye

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I might have told this story before but anyway...

I was about 16/17 yr old, 2-3 years into night fishing for sea trout on my local river. Hadn't caught or even touched a thing but dead keen after just having read and re-read Falkus. This was the season! I managed to persuade my older brother to accompany me one night to my favourite trout pool which I thought must hold sea trout. We crept up to the pool while it was still light and with me telling my brother how important it was to be really stealthy as the slightest wrong move and the fish would be off. We sat in the long grass just behind a line of rock cages at the top of which is where we would start fishing. Neither of us moved for an hour and a half as I bored the sh1t out of my older brother recounting stories from the book about the importance of being quiet, no heavy footsteps, delicate and careful casting, keeping your head below the horizon, blah blah blah.
The time came, we could no longer see the colour in the grass on the far bank, my brother said I should go down the pool first to show him how it's done.
I stepped out from the long grass onto the cage stepped down from the cage into the shallow water in front of me....problem was one wader boot got stuck on a wire protruding from the cage and over I went head first, like a tree being felled, into about a foot of water with one foot still attached to the top of the cage two feet above the river. After about 10 seconds of thrashing about face down in about a foot of water I managed to release my wader boot from the cage and extract myself from the river. I think the worst bit was that while I was thrashing about I'd occasionally manage to get my head out of the water and all I could hear was the demented laughter of my older brother who by this time was rolling around in the long grass struggling to breath he was laughing so hard.
Given that by now the waves from my thrashing about were lapping on the sand banks half way down the pool, we decided we probably weren't going to catch anything so set off back to his car. A mile and a half of my older brother boring the sh1t out of me with his so funny comments about the importance of being quiet, no heavy footsteps, delicate and careful casting, keeping your head below the horizon, blah, blah, f***ing blah.
 
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