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30 mins ago, linesiderdemdnj said:

yeah that is the worst.  7 hours away it was a little hard to take.  didn't want to buy a new rod in the morning either.

That sucks.  With a 7 hour ride and it being the big M, I think I would have purchased a new sub-$200 rod to save the trip and at least be able to fish a little bit...

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Was wetsuiting a spot that required a short 100 ft swim across a channel.  Me and my buddy made the swim on the low incoming with minimal current and new moon (total darkness). We had planned to fish the rising tide and swim back around high when the current slacked.

 

Well the fishing sucked and I ended up breaking my rod tip.  We both decided to attempt the swim back at peak tide with a rip between the rocky island and shore, a bad move....

 

The minute we left the island, we both got swept by the rip, which was near impossible to swim across.  We ended up hauling up onto shore about 300 yards down current from where we need to go and both agreed that we were lucky to be alive.  I don't think either of us have swam in the wetsuit since that night.

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Several years back, I was fishing for some early stripers along a buzzards bay estuary that involved a causeway and two small bridges on each end of the causeway. I parked myself at one of the bridge openings and fished for 2 hours without a hit. At that point, a large bird dipped down and snagged a striper near the other bridge and flew off with it.
 

So I take that as a hint, packed my gear and headed to the other bridge opening. 2 casts in, I catch my first striper of that season. lol

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11 mins ago, MikeK said:

That sucks.  With a 7 hour ride and it being the big M, I think I would have purchased a new sub-$200 rod to save the trip and at least be able to fish a little bit...

i was tempted to do that but i wasn't planning on staying long the next day.  it was mainly for the night and morning.  couldn't stomach paying for a new rod when i had just bought one either.

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15 hours ago, phishallways said:

Fished a tide at Short beach one evening and “had to rush back to hopefully make the head”. 2-3am and I realize I’m not gonna make it.. break the seal on the waders and grab a log to lean back and whew, alls good save the burying part. No beach access for vehicles the entire beach and i assumed i was safe and alone. Well, not the case. I dropped draws and dumped 20’ from some couple in their car doing the deed. Must have been a town employee with a key to open the gate. Ruined the mood that night, but i had a laugh..

hahaaaa, now that's some funny sh-t!,,,,, The motto to this story is, I dump, they pump!,,, Lol.

HH

An armed man is a citizen,,,an unarmed man is a subject,,,,,,,,

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1 hour ago, Camhabib said:

Apologies for how long this turned out, had some fun typing it up and decided it was a nice way to document the incident, more for myself than anything else. Summary is at the end for those of you who are sane and rather not read an essay. 

 

Got into surf casting a couple years ago and decided to treat myself to a long weekend on Cuttyhunk this year, just prior to the season “officially” starting. Took the ferry over with my fiancée and her family, which consisted of a couple serious fisherman who thought the trip also sounded fun. Weather was ideal in every way - fog rolling over the island as we pulled into the harbor, followed by nothing but blue skies and beautiful temps all weekend long. I took the advice of many a wise angler and spent the day, Friday, largely exploring the island, checking spots I had scouted on google maps, and tossing a couple lures in here and there to test the waters. After a thorough trip around the island, I returned to the fishing club where we were all staying, enjoyed a delicious meal, and grabbed my rod the second the plates were washed. For those who haven’t been, the shore of Cuttyhunk is lined with boulders of every size and shape. I had read that snags were common, and that was an understatement for me. I had yet, and have still yet to this day, catch anything over slot, which was my primary goal for this trip. Rod in hand, the hours ticked by without even so much as a bite, and before I knew it, it was 2am, and time for me to call it a night and head back to the club to get some rest before trying again the next day.

 

Saturday morning I awoke with a single purpose in life - to catch a fish, not even over slot, but just any fish after my abysmal performance the night before. The minute the last bite of breakfast cleared my mouth, I grabbed my rod, jumped in the golf cart, and headed out to fish, only stopping to eat and urinate, both of which I repeatedly put off longer than I should have. Knowing that the night would likely be the most productive, and my arm starting to now feel a bit fatigued after hours of fishing, I decided to pack it in and head back to the club for a shower, rest, and some dinner, returning as I had that morning, without a single bite. I figured I would change things up a bit that evening and fish the rising in the morning, rather than a dropping that evening. My alarm sounded at 2am and I was dressed and out the door at 2:05am, the little golf cart zipping through the heavy night air. The morning was shaping up to be a bit better, a couple hours into fishing I had a few bumps, and even a bite. But as the hours once again slipped by, I found myself once again without a fish. By then, it was 7am and I figured a good stopping point for breakfast. I turned the key to the golf cart and as it puttered to life, began heading back to the club, dejected and saddened.

 

I reluctantly ate some breakfast, showered, and rested up for a minute, trying to figure out where I may have gone wrong. At this point, checkout was quickly approaching, a sign to most reasonable people to start packing, prompting me to instead leaving my napping fiancée in the room, grab my rod, and head down for one more try instead. Wanting to let my gear dry before I had to pack it up, I went just down the stairs and walked along the rocky shore in front of the club in my sneakers and jeans, plugging along as I walked, standing atop boulders on the beach as to stay out of the tide that periodically washed by. At one point, about 200 feet down the beach, I tossed a plug and, like it had done 100 times before, got it stuck on the retrieve. I knew the drill - rod flat so you don’t load it, drag tight, pull straight back and hope the weed or little chip in the rock has a lower breaking strength than my line or knot. And just as it did 92 times before, the lure came flying back, attached to the line, pulled free from whatever it had been holding onto. However, this time, instead of landing at my feet in a “thud,” I heard a ping. I looked around to see where the plug had landed, confused as to how I could lose something tied to a string I had the end of, taking a moment to realize I had something attached to me, and this was almost certainly related to my missing plug. I looked down and saw the eye of my 6” needlefish plug dangling by my chest, just barely in my view. I grabbed at my shirt’s neck, expecting to see the plug move down with it, the single tail hook caught between a few fibers of the fleece I was wearing. The plug didn’t move. “Great” I thought, I have a thick beard and it surely just got stuck in that somehow. It had to, I wasn’t in pain, I hadn’t felt anything sharp, it was surely just a little stuck and I’d be on my way in a moment. I moved my hand up the plug slowly, following the tail hook, tracing the metal through my beard, until it disappeared into my skin. I pulled my hand away slowly and looked at my fingertips, covered in a light coat of blood.

 

As an infectious disease research doctor, and a somewhat adrenalin seeking one at that, I’m no stranger to the medical world and injuries in general. First thing was first I thought, I needed to triage myself; was this going to be a funny story and a bandaid, or was I taking a MedFlight off the island. I gave the hook a gentle tug to see just how stuck it was. It might have been only 1cm in, but the barb made all the difference, and it became immediately clear that it wasn’t coming out while standing on some boulder down by the water. I looked around and knew there was no chance I was successfully calling for help on a deserted beach, meaning I would need to make the walk back up to the club before anything could be done. I closed my mouth, held my nose, and gave a hard puff, trying to determine just how deep the hook was, and if it had found its way into my airway. I didn’t detect any leaks, and not being able to actually see the injury myself at all, I cut the line off the plug, grabbed my rod, and slowly, slowly, started walking back to the club. I made my way across the boulders, up the steps, and onto the lawn of the club, all the while holding the plug to stabilize it, where I was met by one of the other guests, a jovial and hung over middle aged gentleman on his first fishing trip ever. Seeing me stumble up, he asked if everything was okay, to which I replied that, no, everything was in fact not okay. Seeing the situation clearly now, he jumped up, pulling out his pliers, and starting running towards me, offering his help in removing the hook embedded in my neck. In what must have been a look of utter horror, I politely refused his assistance, as politely as one in that situation could at least, and instead asked if he knew where my fiancée might be. I managed to call out her name a couple of times as I walked through the door, the guest darting off without a word. I stumbled around the club for a moment before I found the remainder of my group, just funneling out of a cart on their way back from breakfast. Walking calmly outside I expressed “I could use some help” which was met with a couple of laughs, thinking I was pulling a prank on them given how “stoic” I was being (so I’m told). I’m not sure if it was the blood dripping down the plug, or the absolute lack of color in my face, but it didn’t take long for them to realize it wasn’t a prank.

 

I was quickly helped into a seat on the back deck and soon had 10 or so people, fiancée included, standing around me like I had just found the holy grail. The most experienced fisherman in the group sat down and took a look, quickly going a color of white that made me look rosy red. I asked how bad it was and his reply told me everything I needed to know, “pretty bad.” The hook had embedded itself dead center in my neck, about 2cm above my Adam’s apple. Like the guest immediately before him, he pulled out his pliers, thinking maybe he could coax the hook out. He paused for a moment, likely realizing that wasn’t a good idea given how much vital anatomy was located in that area, and pondered like I had done, what exactly to do instead. It dawned on my then what must have happened; when I pulled the lure free of its snag, like I had done hundreds of times before, it hit at my feet as usual, but instead of just coming to a rest, it ricocheted off the boulder I was standing on and went 90 degrees, landing directly below my chin and into my neck. A one in a million occurrence. As I was pondering this, another member of my group had the foresight to grab the innkeeper who by now was also examining the situation. He grabbed his phone, told me to hang tight, and made a call while walking out of sight. A minute later, he returned, with good news no less - there was a medical professional on the island and they were coming down to assist, “the best vet on the island” he said somewhat jokingly, or so we all thought. A couple minutes and a few cool compresses later, an extremely kind young lady pulled up and introduced herself, again, as the islands best vet with a smile. She explained she was indeed a vet and while she couldn’t treat me, could provide an informed opinion on the situation and help decide the next steps, something no one else had been able to do up to this point. She looked, poked a bit, and agreed with what I had feared most, that I’d be taking a ride off the island sooner rather than later.

 

A few more phone calls and minutes later, an older model Ford Escape pulled up the deck behind the club and a gentleman popped out. He introduced himself as the school teacher, fire chief, shellfish company operator, year-long resident, and (most importantly for this situation) the island’s EMT. After taking a look for himself and chatting with the vet, innkeeper, and myself for a moment, agreed that a ride off the island was called for. He explained this kind of stuff happens “all the time,” and said they have protocols in place for these situations; I’d be taking a boat back to the mainland and going to a nearby hospital for treatment. I was soon wrapped up like a gunshot victim with what felt like a mile of tape and gauze being used to secure the lure and its two dandling treble hooks for transport. I was carefully loaded in to the front of truck, my fiancée seated behind me, and we started heading toward the dock. He asked how I was feeling and if I felt capable of handling a short walk. I got the feeling I didn’t have much choice, and being in relatively little pain, even cracking a few jokes, I replied in the affirmative. We soon pulled up the dock and after walking from the parking lot, down a ladder, across a boat, we finally reached his, a well used, well loved, shellfishing boat. I was given the VIP seat, an old Coleman cooler in the corner by the console, and we headed off. The adrenalin running down, the pain starting to accumulate, and all the while being reminded I had a nearly 3oz 6” piece of plug hanging from my neck with every wave we crested, we arrived at the mainland what felt like a lifetime later. He helped me from my seat and into his car, reassuring me I was doing well, and headed toward the hospital. 15 minutes later we arrived at the ED entrance, and I was ferried inside. We got up the reception desk and the EMT explained what the situation was, and that he had called about an hour prior that we’d be arriving. The nurse took one look at me, grabbed a wheelchair, and brought me back to a triage room, hooks, plug, tape and gauze and all.

 

I’ve spent more than my fair share of time in hospitals, on both sides of the coin, and started to feel a bit more at ease once I settled into the exam chair, though still nervous that this hook wouldn’t be coming out without an operation. The triage nurse took my vitals, started to unwrap the plug, examined the injury, and said as calmly as she could with the faintest crack in her voice “I need to call someone.” A phone call and not more than a minute later, a PA showed up, who similarly looked and expressed that, he too, had to call someone. Yet another PA showed up, and after yet another round of exam, the three huddled and came up with a plan - they needed to call someone else. Two residents soon appeared, took a look at what the situation was, and wheeled me back into a room. The ED was packed to say the least - gurneys in the hallway, not an idle hand on the floor, about normal for a nice Sunday. Once back into a room, I moved from the wheelchair to a bed, and soon had about 10 nurses wizzing around me. Vitals were taken again, leads placed, IV inserted, and the two residents that had wheeled me back were now trying to figure out what to do. Get the lure removed and free the hook was the first order of business. They started with a small pair of nippers with no luck. The ring kept twisting when they went to cut it, and afraid of doing more damage with the sharp hook buried in my neck, they quickly abandoned that. Next up was a pair of ring cutters, a small hand cranked diamond wheel used to remove wedding bands and the like. After a few minutes of use, the ring again wobbling side to side, they abandoned that plan and went to regroup. “We’ll be right back” the doctors expressed and hurried away. There are few things more discomforting than being in a medical crisis, in a place where you’re supposed to go for a medical crisis (aka a hospital) and having half a dozen trained medical professionals look at you and not know what to do.

 

Nurses and other staff continued to whizz through my room until an older gentleman seemingly magically appeared, bringing the room to a near halt as they waited for new orders. It didn’t take more than one look to realize it was the attending, the buck stopped at him as far as the ED was concerned. He introduced himself, ensured we would get this taken care of, and set a frenzy of people into monition just as quickly as they had paused. We talked shop for a moment, likely more him assessing my mental state than anything, and I made my first and only request - lorazepam, and a healthy dose of it. The medication was pushed and I was soon feeling much more relaxed. The residents updated him on what they had tried so far, the success, or rather lack there of, readily apparent. He agreed, first order of business was to get the plug free of the hook. He instructed one of the nurses to run up to the OR and grab the nippers used to cut the titanium bolts, sending another to get the cutters used to open lockers just in case. At this point, fearing something may get nicked and cause me to crash, what seemed like the entirety of the ED was in my room, standing by, ready to resuscitate me if the need arose. Unbeknownst to me at the time, my finance had asked for a status update and if she could come back to see me. She was told I was stable, and that while they’d love to have her back, it was standing room only, as I was the current the focus of the entire department at the moment. The nippers arrived, and after some finagling, the ring was finally cut, and I was 3oz lighter. A ENT specialist was called down and a bedside x-ray was taken. This involved two technicians, dressed head to toe in lead, one holding the target, the other operating the machine while the room emptied out for the first time. Nothing makes you feel more comfortable than see everyone leave you except for two people in lead suits while you’re protected by nothing more than a bedsheet.

 

Radiograph was taken, examined, and a final plan laid out. The hook didn’t appear to have hit anything vital, and barring any objections from me, they would numb me up, cut the eye, and push it through as if it was just stuck in my finger. Already a bit (mentally) numb from the benzos, and having just gone through what felt like the adventure of a lifetime just getting to the hospital, this wasn’t much of an issue for me. The hook came out, a few pictures snapped, and I was free. Just in time as well, as the maintenance man had just showed up with the pair of industrial bolt cutters, 3 feet long, wondering how he could help. There was surprisingly little blood in the end, and I didn’t even need stitches, just a bandaid and a big pack of antibiotics. My fiancée rejoined me in the back, I thanked everyone profusely, and I was discharged, to fish again another day.

 

TLDR: Went fishing on Cuttyhunk, took a hook to the neck on an empty beach and had to get emergency evacuated from the island to have it removed.

I guess the split ring wasn’t accessible to split ring pliers? And the swivel not accessible to nippers/cutters? That’s easier to cut. Just curious. 

 

Infectious disease doc with a wish to experiment upon himself, eh? Seems fairly common actually, lol.

 

(Like an ortho with a penchant for injurious activities! Known a bunch of those over the years.)

 

Kinda makes me feel better thinking about my own bad luck resulting in lost/broken/stolen or otherwise dismissed fishing gear. (Like I said, I identify with the @linesiderdemdnj story!)

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I was fishing in S Jersey (SJ) last Spring or the spring prior - it all blends together. It was getting light and I hadn’t slept plus I had some beers mostly emptied out of the cooler by that time. SJ being very flat beach, I had tucked up against a drain pipe that went a hundred yards plus into the ocean. 
 

Some naked dude and presumably his gf or wife came sauntering out pretty much right next to me. Not a stitch of clothing to be found and not a very impressive sight. 
 

They acted proud of their adventure about to happen and I “reluctantly” had to inform them that I was fishing this side of the pipe - skinny dip on the other side or go 50 yards down away from the pipe so they don’t get plunked. 
 

Nope. Not having my reasonable request. They said something like “you’ll just have to wait a few minutes.”
 

So I mentioned needing to call the police. Still no compliance. I mentioned I was really going to call the police and instead of moving over the guy gets angry. (I would’ve moved over myself but I had rod spikes, a fishing cart, a chair, etc, etc.)

 

So, I faked calling the cops - talking way louder than usual and described their general appearance leaving out the lack of impressive physique. Lol. 
 

Now the guy is walking towards me and getting within 15 yards or so. I’m not too afraid for my safety at that point but not the slightest bit interested in an altercation with a drunk naked dude. (They were smashed.)

 

So, I ended the fake call by saying “see you soon” to the fake police, put my phone away and motioned towards the large filet knife sheathed on my belt. At that point, he finally backed off. But he kept staring & glaring at me for a long time when he should’ve been getting dressed or getting out of there. 
 

I obviously could not turn my back to them to fish and eventually they left and I was fairly spent with the adrenaline rush gone.
 

There’s a whole other part of the story not involving those two specimens but instead totally dominated by my own stupidity.

 

I documented that already on the site & rather leave it be for now. Lol. 
 

Good stories. 

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35 mins ago, EricDice said:

I guess the split ring wasn’t accessible to split ring pliers? And the swivel not accessible to nippers/cutters? That’s easier to cut. Just curious. 

The issue was less access and more that they didn’t want the hook to move at all as they were concerned with it nicking something in my neck, especially while connected by a few hinge points to a weighted lure. 

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18 mins ago, Camhabib said:

The issue was less access and more that they didn’t want the hook to move at all as they were concerned with it nicking something in my neck, especially while connected by a few hinge points to a weighted lure. 

I get it! Keep the movement & pressure to a minimum
 

You went to Cuttyhunk and hooked up!!

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17 hours ago, Sudsy said:

Old story but completely true. About 18 years now..............

 

 

A warm late spring pre-dawn morning in North Monmouth.

 

I'd been fishing one of our club tournaments and was going on at least 24 hours with no sleep, to say the least I was doing the half zombie thing. Was going from spot to spot trying to track down a bite. Totally in my own zone not paying attention to anything

Decided to have a go behind the Ocean Hilton Hotel in Long Branch.

 

I park, grab my rod, cross over the boardwalk and walk down onto the beach. False Dawn is just starting and there was a thick fog rolling in off the water swirling around on the beach. I'm stumbling down towards the water when I realize I'm not alone, in fact there are lots of people there - and something isn't quite right...................

 

As the sky begins to brighten up I realize that I'm surrounded by between 50 to 100 midgets - I **** you not! There must have been a convention or something at the conference center. By far the single most surreal moment I've ever experienced.

 

There were all different shapes and sizes fading in and out of view in the half light and mist.

One with a perfectly normal upper body and little stubby midget legs, his hands drug in the sand as he walked, a whole pack of tiny little midget children playing tag, one with a really twisted back was fishing, a midget couple making out on a blanket....................

 

No one even acknowledged the fact that I was there walking through the middle of the crowd. It was as though I was completely invisible - the scene was something right out of a Salvador Dali film with me in a starring role on the edge of a complete freak out.

 

Okay, very interesting.... :th:

 

 

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Last one for me.  I was night fishing the Farmington River for big browns during the summer.  I had waded out mid river near a tall bridge.  I heard a large splash on the opposite bank that I was casting to, but it sounded to big to be a fish.  I assumed it was a beaver or heron and kept fishing.

 

Minutes later, two larger splashes occurred in quick succession about 5 and 10 feet away from me.  These were big splashes and it was clear that some punks were throwing big rocks off the bridge at me.  I'm talking soccer ball size rocks that could have killed me.

 

I immediately yelled up to knock it off and heard nothing.  I went up the steep bank to investigate and nobody was around.  There was a crappy subaru outback with nobody in it parked in a pulloff across the bridge.  I drove away, but made several passes back through the area in hopes of finding the perps, but no luck and the subaru never moved or was occupied.  I moved and chose another location far from a bridge, but was on edge the rest of the night.

 

Fast forward 2 years and I see a post on Facebook complaining about the same thing at the same exact spot. That person was smart enough to call the police.  I followed suit the next day to report my story.

 

These are probably some kids messing around, but they damn well may end up killing a fisherman...

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I was fishing the Raritan Bay in Belford NJ, no more than three quarters a mile away from Earle Naval Pier.

 

Just myself and one other guy on the chunk. It was calm, too calm. Them a bright blinding light, lit up the entire sky. I was waiting for a blast to send me flying off my feet.

 

It seemed like 15 minutes went by till the guy standing there next to me said, what the Fu(k was that. I never answered. 

 

This is the first time I ever mentioned what happened maybe twenty some odd years ago.

Edited by Lou T
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1 hour ago, MikeK said:

Last one for me.  I was night fishing the Farmington River for big browns during the summer.  I had waded out mid river near a tall bridge.  I heard a large splash on the opposite bank that I was casting to, but it sounded to big to be a fish.  I assumed it was a beaver or heron and kept fishing.

 

Minutes later, two larger splashes occurred in quick succession about 5 and 10 feet away from me.  These were big splashes and it was clear that some punks were throwing big rocks off the bridge at me.  I'm talking soccer ball size rocks that could have killed me.

 

I immediately yelled up to knock it off and heard nothing.  I went up the steep bank to investigate and nobody was around.  There was a crappy subaru outback with nobody in it parked in a pulloff across the bridge.  I drove away, but made several passes back through the area in hopes of finding the perps, but no luck and the subaru never moved or was occupied.  I moved and chose another location far from a bridge, but was on edge the rest of the night.

 

Fast forward 2 years and I see a post on Facebook complaining about the same thing at the same exact spot. That person was smart enough to call the police.  I followed suit the next day to report my story.

 

These are probably some kids messing around, but they damn well may end up killing a fisherman...

Maybe some wacko thought it was his spot and this was his way chasing people. Some guys are f-up in the head if you decide to go back look for that car and take a picture of it. Check the bridge for rocks stashed away, if you have time to kill sit in the lot and watch who goes.

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2 hours ago, Lou T said:

I was fishing the Raritan Bay in Belford NJ, no more than three quarters a mile away from Earle Naval Pier.

 

Just myself and one other guy on the chunk. It was calm, too calm. Them a bright blinding light, lit up the entire sky. I was waiting for a blast to send me flying off my feet.

 

It seemed like 15 minutes went by till the guy standing there next to me said, what the Fu(k was that. I never answered. 

 

This is the first time I ever mentioned what happened maybe twenty some odd years ago.

wow, those are happening all over the world, 3 months ago there were 4 in Russia and 2 in the middle east.

Some scientists are saying it's space debris that's burning high up, some say it's interspacial flectures, but who is to know, possibly new weapon testing.

HH

ps-i want to hear the fat cat  experience/paradox.

 

An armed man is a citizen,,,an unarmed man is a subject,,,,,,,,

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