All in the Family
Redd Herring
My very best friend, Buck, and I love to fish. A favorite annual trip was to the White River in Arkansas for rainbow trout. Not only was the fishing great, but we got to spend time with a cast of characters that few could match. Many memorable times were had at Riley’s Station with my dad, Bigg Redd, and his very best friends - Frogg, Weathermann, and Hacksaww.
Now, no matter how much you love your friends, driving three days with them will wear on your nerves. Six adults crammed into one vehicle makes for quite a road trip, so by the time we reached the lodge, we definitely needed our space. The problem was that all of us were in a single cabin with three sets of bunk beds. After a two-hour discussion about who got what bed, Buck and I were on the verge of well… something. The one thing keeping us from that something was trout fishing the next morning. It was all I thought about as I lay listening to the five chainsaws sharing the room with me.
When I woke up, it was still dark. “‘Bout time you got up!” Bigg called out. “We already ate.” He was halfway down to the dock. “Hurry up! We’re burnin’ daylight!”
I gathered my gear and scurried down the hill. At the dock, two twenty-foot jon boats waited, each with three swivel seats. All that room was heaven! “Which one is mine?” I asked. Then, I noticed the arrangement. Weathermann was in the back manning the motor. In the seats were Bigg, Frogg, and Hacksaww, while Buck claimed the small front platform. Between Bigg and Frogg, a cracked five-gallon bucket awaited me.
As soon as we launched, everyone started casting. The sound of five rods all whipping around you is probably similar to five swords doing the same, which caused me to stay bent with my head almost in my lap. Every time I sat up, I heard a lure zip past my ear. While Bigg and Frogg both had fish on the line, I saw my opening and hurried a cast toward the bank, right into a willow tree.
“Hold it!” Weathermann barked, pointing. I grabbed my knife. “NO!” Frogg bellowed. “You can get it out.” He pulled his hat down low and turned away. The rest of the group followed suit. “OK, pull straight back.”
I pulled, the branch stretching towards me, not ready to give up its prize. It finally let go, and a quarter ounce of metal shot at me like a bullet. I looked down and saw two treble hook barbs buried in my knee. I just sat and stared, not really feeling anything.
Frogg got his pliers, gripped the hook, and - I FELT IT! I went to wiggling and rocking the boat so hard that Bigg grabbed me to keep me from falling overboard, or so I thought. He was actually holding me down while Hacksaww wrapped fishing line around the hook and yanked like he was trying to start a lawnmower, sending me into a fit as I thrashed around like a wampus cat in a gunnysack. Just when I thought the situation couldn’t get worse, Weathermann pulled out his cigar lighter, the kind that’s like a torch, and started heating his pocket knife blade. At this point, I just let out a low groan.
“Hey y’all.” Buck spoke up. “Maybe he needs a doctor?”
Weathermann started the motor. Bigg radioed ahead that we needed a ride to the hospital, but gave no details, so when we reached the dock, my minor injury had transformed into a full-fledged situation. When we pulled in, two huge sets of arms dragged me out of the boat, banging my knee on the dock in the process. Those boys ran me up the hill and dumped me hard in the truck passenger seat. Bigg took the wheel while Buck, Weatherman, Frogg, and Hacksaww piled in back.
The twelve-mile ride on a twisty, Arkansas mountain road didn’t do much to help, and by the time we pulled up, I might have agreed to amputation just to get some relief. Everyone jumped out and rushed inside, all yelling at once. I think I even heard one of them shout “STAT!”. A few minutes later, the whole crew returned with four nurses! They wheeled me through the ER, straight past people who were there for real emergencies, and into a small corner. I can only imagine what the five stooges told those nurses to get me the express treatment.
Soon after, a doctor peaked through the curtain, took one look at us and grinned, “I’ll be right back.” When he returned, he brought along just about every person that was on shift that day. “How was the fishing?” he asked, trying to hold back.
“Great,” Frogg slapped me on the back. “Hooked a big ‘un here!” That opened the flood gates, and the place exploded with laughter. “Okay,” the doctor said, “this will only take a second. We’re going to use the string-yank method to get that hook out. I invited some staff, so they can see how it’s done.”
“Hold on, Doc!” I was trying to wheel back away from him, but I was already against the wall. “I don’t like the sound of that! Hacksaww over there done tried to pull it out with fishing line!”
“Did you press the barbs into the skin first to dislodge them?” Hacksaww shook his head, looking utterly dumbfounded. The doctor nodded as he wrapped thick suture around the hook. “That’s why it didn’t work. You probably just dug them in deeper.” He looked at me. “This is the painful part.”
“You don’t know the half of it…. DOC!” I yelled out as he pushed the hook deeper into my leg. Just as I reached out to strangle him, he jerked the string straight back and I heard a popping noise. You know the kind of sound when you get injured and only you hear it - sort of inside your head?
The next thing I heard was applause from the audience. The doctor held up the string, hook dangling and spinning like a fish on the line. He handed it to a nurse, who promptly left. “All done,” he said. “As soon as that’s cleaned up, you can be on your way.”
“Hey, do y’all still keep the lures?” Weathermann asked.
“Sure do.” He pointed. “Right down that hall, you’ll see it.” He waved, laughing as he walked away.
When the nurse was finished, Frogg pushed me down the hall with everyone in tow, laughing the whole way. “What’s so funny?” I growled. We stopped and Frogg pointed to a huge frame on the wall filled with lures of all kinds, each with a name and date, and there was mine - Redd Herring 7/13/2005 - and right next to it was another lure - Bigg Redd 8/1/1999. I looked over at Bigg. He smiled and pulled down his shirt collar to reveal a small scar on his shoulder.
Until next time…
Redd
reddherring.com
reddherring.author@gmail.com