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So I'm at Blockade Runners on Saturday, yanking little mangrove snappers out of the water at the dock one after the other. I hook one and all of a sudden, it spits the hook. I do not know how what happened next happened. It just did. My shad rig flew out of the water, and one of the jigs buried itself in my neck.
I reached up and felt it, and I knew I was done fishing for the evening. I ran into the camp and took a look in the mirror. I began to try to push it through, with the idea of cutting the barb off and pulling it out. As I strained with pain to do so, I began to think . . . . "Where is my jugular vein? What about the carotid artery?" I wasn't sure how close I was, and I knew I needed help!
I clipped the line off, threw both of my first aid kits into the boat and I took off, my new jewelry dancing in the wind. I ran past deserted camps and into Cold Pass. I slowed and began to consider my options. The sun was going down, the camp was open, I didn't have any lights on the boat, MY KEYS WERE BACK AT THE CAMP TOO! I began to panic a little, thinking I'd have to go all the way back if I was to drive myself to the hospital. About that time, I noticed several people fishing off the dock at the Judge's Bench.
I roared up, disturbing their fishing and I said, "I'm sorry to disturb y'all, but I know I need some help. I've got this fish hook here stuck in my neck." Kids began screaming bloody murder as I showed everyone. One guy helped me out of the boat and a nice lady ensured me that somehow I had pulled up to the RIGHT DOCK! She explained that 2 surgeons were amongst them. I introduced myself and they as Doctors Vargas and Echevarria. Dr. Vargas tried to push the hook through to no avail. He kept asking for someone to get some lidocaine. They couldn't find it, so I told them to forget it, just push it through. He then asked me if I was AA. I asked what AA was and he responded, "Alcoholics Anonymous". I said, "heck no!" So he yells up for someone to bring some whisky.
Looking at my situation, with the sun almost down, no lights on my boat, and I'm all alone, etc. I told him, to forget the whisky, beer, and lidocaine. "Just push it through if you can do it." He grabbed hold of the hook, pressed his fingers on either side of the targeted exit hole, and told me to caugh 3 times really hard. On my second caugh, BAM! He popped it through. OUCHY! He then quickly cut off the barb and slip the rest of the hook out. Talk about relief.
With not a moment to spare, I thanked them, promised to visit the next day, and took off, glad to be rid of my unwanted jewelry. Getting back to the camp just as the sunset was at its most glorious, I took the time right there on the dock to thank God for watching over me and getting me out of that tough spot so perfectly. There can be no other explanation in my mind for why I headed that way, and why I chose to stop at that dock over others.
Sunday I went over to thank the good doctors, and we had a nice little visit. Bunch of great guys and gals over there. I thanked them time and again. Extra special thanks to Doctors Vargas and Echevarria. They saved my butt, and I owe them more than my usual $25 co-pay. Thanks also to Doc, the owner of the Judge's Bench for having the foresight to rent his place to these wonderful people.
As I wafted off to sleep that night, worried so much about the day to come and who was or wasn't going to show up to work on the camp, I caught myself and said, "Dude, whatever happens tomorrow doesn't matter. You're just lucky to be here now instead of in an emergency room." Leaving all worries behind, I drifted off into the deep sleep that eludes me in all places but that wonderful place on the bayou.
Photo: At the Judge's Bench: On the left, Dr. Vargas, and on the right, Dr. Echevarria.
I reached up and felt it, and I knew I was done fishing for the evening. I ran into the camp and took a look in the mirror. I began to try to push it through, with the idea of cutting the barb off and pulling it out. As I strained with pain to do so, I began to think . . . . "Where is my jugular vein? What about the carotid artery?" I wasn't sure how close I was, and I knew I needed help!
I clipped the line off, threw both of my first aid kits into the boat and I took off, my new jewelry dancing in the wind. I ran past deserted camps and into Cold Pass. I slowed and began to consider my options. The sun was going down, the camp was open, I didn't have any lights on the boat, MY KEYS WERE BACK AT THE CAMP TOO! I began to panic a little, thinking I'd have to go all the way back if I was to drive myself to the hospital. About that time, I noticed several people fishing off the dock at the Judge's Bench.
I roared up, disturbing their fishing and I said, "I'm sorry to disturb y'all, but I know I need some help. I've got this fish hook here stuck in my neck." Kids began screaming bloody murder as I showed everyone. One guy helped me out of the boat and a nice lady ensured me that somehow I had pulled up to the RIGHT DOCK! She explained that 2 surgeons were amongst them. I introduced myself and they as Doctors Vargas and Echevarria. Dr. Vargas tried to push the hook through to no avail. He kept asking for someone to get some lidocaine. They couldn't find it, so I told them to forget it, just push it through. He then asked me if I was AA. I asked what AA was and he responded, "Alcoholics Anonymous". I said, "heck no!" So he yells up for someone to bring some whisky.
Looking at my situation, with the sun almost down, no lights on my boat, and I'm all alone, etc. I told him, to forget the whisky, beer, and lidocaine. "Just push it through if you can do it." He grabbed hold of the hook, pressed his fingers on either side of the targeted exit hole, and told me to caugh 3 times really hard. On my second caugh, BAM! He popped it through. OUCHY! He then quickly cut off the barb and slip the rest of the hook out. Talk about relief.
With not a moment to spare, I thanked them, promised to visit the next day, and took off, glad to be rid of my unwanted jewelry. Getting back to the camp just as the sunset was at its most glorious, I took the time right there on the dock to thank God for watching over me and getting me out of that tough spot so perfectly. There can be no other explanation in my mind for why I headed that way, and why I chose to stop at that dock over others.
Sunday I went over to thank the good doctors, and we had a nice little visit. Bunch of great guys and gals over there. I thanked them time and again. Extra special thanks to Doctors Vargas and Echevarria. They saved my butt, and I owe them more than my usual $25 co-pay. Thanks also to Doc, the owner of the Judge's Bench for having the foresight to rent his place to these wonderful people.
As I wafted off to sleep that night, worried so much about the day to come and who was or wasn't going to show up to work on the camp, I caught myself and said, "Dude, whatever happens tomorrow doesn't matter. You're just lucky to be here now instead of in an emergency room." Leaving all worries behind, I drifted off into the deep sleep that eludes me in all places but that wonderful place on the bayou.
Photo: At the Judge's Bench: On the left, Dr. Vargas, and on the right, Dr. Echevarria.
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LIVIN THE SALT LIFE 
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