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Posted on 3/21/19 at 10:17 am to Marciano1
quote:
It was a gafftop
Heat up the oil.
Posted on 3/21/19 at 10:21 am to TigerBait1971
quote:
Heat up the oil.
I kept it, plus eight more. But thinking you have a big red and realizing it's the 100th catfish you've hooked that day, it's disappointing.
Posted on 3/22/19 at 10:02 am to lsuson
When I was probably 9 or 10, me and my dad went on a camping trip at Saline to run some yo-yo's in February. It was supposed to get cold that night, but that was in 80's and before smart phone's or accurate weather forecasts. Let me tell you, 20 degrees in a tent is damn cold.
Anyway, we went up Saline By, found a good spot on a high bank amongst the cypress trees and made camp before hanging the yo-yo's. My dad brought a Coleman stove and made some big juicy (a little too juicy) cheesburgers in a cast iron skillet for supper. After supper, we're out running the yo-yo's in the dark cold night. That's when that cheesburger "hit" my dad. Now I was in charge of running the q-beam and the big motor at idle between sets, he was on the front of the boat running the trolling motor with a headlight mostly. He tells me to hurry up and crank the motor and start heading back to camp, "Hurry! I got to shite!" he starts yelling. But we're in the middle of a bunch of cypress trees at night, and I'm only 9, so I wasn't prepared to do more than an idle the few hundred yards back to the camp. About midway the shite monster hit him with full force. He unzipped and flung his coveralls off and started spray shitting the cypress trees off the bow while me idling to the camp and him hanging onto the trolling motor for support.
I finally get to the bank, and that's when we noticed that in his hasty evacuation, he had both flung his coveralls in the water and spray shite on top of them. So he yells for me to go up to the tent and get the toilet paper out of the storage box and some more clothes. He also discovered that his can of chew had floated out of the top pocket of his coveralls and disappeared.
So now he had no more insulated warm clothes, it was in the twenties, and he sprayed shite all over the bow of the boat. I mostly stood by while I watched him clean up while spewing cuss words and shivering. Good thing we had a good fire. We ended up catching a box full of slabs that night, but I often wondered what would have happened had another boat came riding by with a q-beam with my dad's shite covered arse hanging off the bow of the boat as we idled down the channel of the bayou.
Anyway, we went up Saline By, found a good spot on a high bank amongst the cypress trees and made camp before hanging the yo-yo's. My dad brought a Coleman stove and made some big juicy (a little too juicy) cheesburgers in a cast iron skillet for supper. After supper, we're out running the yo-yo's in the dark cold night. That's when that cheesburger "hit" my dad. Now I was in charge of running the q-beam and the big motor at idle between sets, he was on the front of the boat running the trolling motor with a headlight mostly. He tells me to hurry up and crank the motor and start heading back to camp, "Hurry! I got to shite!" he starts yelling. But we're in the middle of a bunch of cypress trees at night, and I'm only 9, so I wasn't prepared to do more than an idle the few hundred yards back to the camp. About midway the shite monster hit him with full force. He unzipped and flung his coveralls off and started spray shitting the cypress trees off the bow while me idling to the camp and him hanging onto the trolling motor for support.
I finally get to the bank, and that's when we noticed that in his hasty evacuation, he had both flung his coveralls in the water and spray shite on top of them. So he yells for me to go up to the tent and get the toilet paper out of the storage box and some more clothes. He also discovered that his can of chew had floated out of the top pocket of his coveralls and disappeared.
So now he had no more insulated warm clothes, it was in the twenties, and he sprayed shite all over the bow of the boat. I mostly stood by while I watched him clean up while spewing cuss words and shivering. Good thing we had a good fire. We ended up catching a box full of slabs that night, but I often wondered what would have happened had another boat came riding by with a q-beam with my dad's shite covered arse hanging off the bow of the boat as we idled down the channel of the bayou.
This post was edited on 3/22/19 at 10:07 am
Posted on 3/22/19 at 10:59 am to lsuson
Back in the 70's a group of us went out to that old fort that use to be in Lake Borgne right off the MRGO not far from the Violet Canal. We knew the folks that owned it and got permission to spend a couple days fishing out of it.
Long story short, one of the guys with us brought his arsenal of handguns and one of them was a .44 Magnum he got for a Christmas present and had never fired it. He decided to head to the backside of the old fort and fire it out into Lake Borgne.
That particular area was covered under a tin roof and the first time he fired that gun it echoed so loud in that enclosed area he damaged his inner ear and had all sorts of trouble with his equilibrium afterwards. He walked around like a drunk sailor for a couple days before it eased up for him.
Long story short, one of the guys with us brought his arsenal of handguns and one of them was a .44 Magnum he got for a Christmas present and had never fired it. He decided to head to the backside of the old fort and fire it out into Lake Borgne.
That particular area was covered under a tin roof and the first time he fired that gun it echoed so loud in that enclosed area he damaged his inner ear and had all sorts of trouble with his equilibrium afterwards. He walked around like a drunk sailor for a couple days before it eased up for him.
Posted on 3/22/19 at 11:50 am to redneck
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