Courtesy: hitchsafe.com
*FAN SUBMISSION by Kraig Ehm of Lainsburg, MI. Follow him on Twitter @kraigehm.*
Yes, this is a fishing tale and it involves an un-named fishing partner and me. Actually, he does have a name, but I am sure he would rather I not use it. I will make one up—Billy Bare Belly (he wasn’t wearing a shirt and was turning a bright pink while fishing).
Well, Triple B and I were out fishin in a local lake and the fish were jes plain not a bitin. Crappies, bluegills, pike; nothing found our bait appealing. Our looks weren’t anything to write home about either. It was a hot, sunny day in the dingy as the July afternoon slowly turned to evening.
Here is where I explain my malevolence toward mosquitoes. I hate them with a Babe Ruth swatting-passion. And they just love me—biting every uncovered shred of epidermis I own.
On the way back to the dock, Triple B (who was the dingy driver) told me to throw a line in the water with a hot-n-tot (a fishing device that dives thereby attracting fish) in an effort to latch onto a Muskie.
Well, I had my shirt pulled up over my head as sort of a homemade mosquito net. B-three thought this was funny and told me so. He said, “You look like Eleanor Roosevelt swatting at butterflies.”
Man was I insulted. I couldn’t help it I was so attractive. Billy Bare never seemed to have a problem with mosquitoes biting him.
I had the hot-n-tot humming and in no time at all I hooked a forty-pound log. Again. Triple B had to slow the boat to allow me to finish the catch and release of the tree.
BBB had tossed yet another taunt my way when all-of-a-sudden, bang! My fishing rod bent toward the water in a nanosecond. Uh-oh.
I was sure more “logs on the fire jokes” would be hurled my head-covered way when I noticed the eyes staring up at me. Big, round eyes.
The creature slowly floated past Eleanor to the other end of the boat under the intense gaze of Billy Bare.
“It’s a Muskie,” hollered B-three and we clapped, high-fived, and shouted for joy.
Several sweat-filled minutes of working the line passed before I was finally able to reel in the massive Muskie (he was indeed huge). And this is where revenge was as sweet as tea.
It was a scorcher of an evening and old Billy Bare Belly had his shirt off—mistake #1 (I might have resembled Eleanor, but at least I was dressed for the occasion).
As I swung the fish into the boat, old Triple B reached out, grabbed my line, and then directed the fish on board the USS Dingy—mistake #2.
The Muskie, realizing he had been betrayed by a bite, decided right then and there to chomp down just one last time. His massive jaws opened, razor-sharp teeth flashed and snapped—right on Triple B’s bare belly button.
“Ow! Stupid fish!”
I laughed so hard I about rolled right out of the boat.
Billy Bare Bitten Belly was in no laughing mood. His belly button turned bright red before starting to bleed.
I continued to laugh my fool covered head off thinking this was not only great mosquito payback, but great entertainment as well. Glancing around the boat, we couldn’t locate a club or anything else with which to whack the Muskie and put it out of commission. Motoring back to the dock in the near dark, we had two sets of eyes watching the Muskie to make sure he was indeed done biting.
Quadruple B cleaned and filleted the Muskie, and then invited my family and me over for dinner to eat the “stupid fish.” I walked in the backyard to check on the grill and discovered the head of the Muskie nailed to an apple tree. B-four explained, “The fish made me so mad when he bit me that I nailed his head to the tree and got the last laugh.”
No, Billy Bare Bitten Belly. Eleanor actually got the last belly laugh.
