S
StoneyBud
Guest
I was fishing on the bank of the Colorado river about 30 miles or so from the Hoover Dam. The spot I was fishing in was only accessible by driving on this loose sand road for about a half hour with the tires bagged out like half-filled balloons.
There were 6 of us and we set up tents and got a really good campsite going.
Well, towards evening, I was pretty buzzed on booze and weed and set up a lawn recliner parallel with the river and right on the very edge of a nice deep spot and started casting a spoon lure with a treble hook.
More weed, more booze, more fun with the guys around the fire and I ended up sleeping in that chair, stretched out and my line in the water with the current pulling on the lure enough to keep it off the bottom.
I put the pole over the arm of the chair and tucked it under the other chair arm and dozed off.
At about 2am, I awoke with a huge YANK on the pole, (med-heavy with 15 pound test), and when I jerked the pole without thinking, it tipped me right into the damn river.
I became fully awake about halfway to the water, it was a full moon out, so I could see pretty good. I landed right dab on top of my rod. It's probably the only reason it got saved.
There was a short "beach" about 30 yards downstream and I swam for it while keeping my rod firmly in my grasp. I climbed out and after laughing a bit, started cranking in my line.
The damn pole almost doubled over into the water! Whatever it was, (I had no idea at the time), it was still on!
I played it good and landed a striped bass that when held by its gills at shoulder level, it just touched the ground. A real beauty!
All six of us ate on that fish for the entire day starting with breakfast and finished it off the next day from the coolers. It was delicious!
Striped bass grilled over an open campfire and eaten in the fresh air is almost heaven.
I have no idea what the fish weighed and being a bunch of young men on a camping/drinking/gambling/getting high trip, we had no camera, just a lot of hungry men!
We drew straws on each night, with the previous losers standing out, and one person watched camp while the rest of us went into Vegas and raised hell and gambled. We each took a change of clothes and washed up in a gas station sink on the way, so we didn't seem like the Beverly Hillbillies.
There were 6 of us and we set up tents and got a really good campsite going.
Well, towards evening, I was pretty buzzed on booze and weed and set up a lawn recliner parallel with the river and right on the very edge of a nice deep spot and started casting a spoon lure with a treble hook.
More weed, more booze, more fun with the guys around the fire and I ended up sleeping in that chair, stretched out and my line in the water with the current pulling on the lure enough to keep it off the bottom.
I put the pole over the arm of the chair and tucked it under the other chair arm and dozed off.
At about 2am, I awoke with a huge YANK on the pole, (med-heavy with 15 pound test), and when I jerked the pole without thinking, it tipped me right into the damn river.
I became fully awake about halfway to the water, it was a full moon out, so I could see pretty good. I landed right dab on top of my rod. It's probably the only reason it got saved.
There was a short "beach" about 30 yards downstream and I swam for it while keeping my rod firmly in my grasp. I climbed out and after laughing a bit, started cranking in my line.
The damn pole almost doubled over into the water! Whatever it was, (I had no idea at the time), it was still on!
I played it good and landed a striped bass that when held by its gills at shoulder level, it just touched the ground. A real beauty!
All six of us ate on that fish for the entire day starting with breakfast and finished it off the next day from the coolers. It was delicious!
Striped bass grilled over an open campfire and eaten in the fresh air is almost heaven.
I have no idea what the fish weighed and being a bunch of young men on a camping/drinking/gambling/getting high trip, we had no camera, just a lot of hungry men!
We drew straws on each night, with the previous losers standing out, and one person watched camp while the rest of us went into Vegas and raised hell and gambled. We each took a change of clothes and washed up in a gas station sink on the way, so we didn't seem like the Beverly Hillbillies.
