Hook, Line, and Stinker
Another odd story; the business of fishing for personal ego-boost & perhaps professional status. [Check out Mammoth Hot Springs along highway 395 on route to Death Valley...].
HOOK, LINE AND STINKER
Every time the three of them went on a fishing trip, Fred seemed to catch the biggest trout. They fished in a narrow stream just down a mile from Mammoth Hot Springs where vacationers could soak in water bubbling up from hot fissures along the creek bed. The fish were smart enough to avoid the hot side of the stream, keeping to the icy cold side where the swift current would speed them by. The fish had few natural enemies except man and old age. Unfortunately, the stream had become so famous for "the best trout fishing in America" that several lodges had been built within fifty feet of the banks, helping to keep the fish population decimated most of the time. To give the trout a bit more of a chance for survival, the state of California Fisheries Commission had declared a law that in areas so designated, anglers could only fish for game trout with "barbless" hooks. And the legal length for a "keeper" was set at 16". Most men and women that threw their lines in the water honored these rules of good sportsmanship. Most everyone, that is, except Fred.
When Fred's buddies were up or down stream, out of sight, he would pull out a separate hand line with a barbed fly and let it coast down the current by his feet. When he felt the fish hit he would sink that barb into its mouth and quickly haul it in with no more delicacy that pulling in an anchor. He believed that might was right. He also enjoyed showing off, being the BMOC (Big Man On Campus). With his needle-nose pliers he would quickly and carefully pry the barb out of the fish, making sure that he left no sign of his illegal fishing method. If the fish was below limit he would just throw it back like everyone else. Sometimes the hook got set in the insides of the fish's mouth and he would tear it up pretty badly while extracting the barb. These fish didn't live long after release, but fortunately for him the fast current carried off the evidence.
Finally the fish god, if there was one, got its revenge. As usual, Fred was using a barbed hook when no one was looking. He hooked a big one, the line digging deep into his hand. He jerked back. The fish swam around him, wrapping the line around his rubber wading overalls. Just as he jerked again the hook got loose and shot in his direction, snagging itself deep within the flesh of his leg. It had pierced the rubber waders which were now stuck against the back side of his upper thigh as if they'd been stapled there. A few seconds later two members of his fishing party rounded the bend and waved.