Crazy Memories

[BarryBobPosthole]

You ever sat down and thought about the crazy shit you used to do and wonder how the heck you survived to whatever ripe old age you are?

I remember going duck hunting one morning and the sign at the bank said ‘12’ on my way to Mallard Fillmore’s house at 3:30AM. Yes. 3:30 was/is his standard meetup time for duck hunting as long as I can remember. Don’t be a nanosecond late either.
It was so cold we had to beat a hole in the ice for dekes. And rebreak it every half hour or so. One slip and it would have been very bad. We killed a shit load of ducks that morning. The ice in front of our blind looked like a butcher shop floor. We were retreiving our own ducks in those days too. In chest waders in water almost nipple deep in the beaver ditches. We had bamboo poles we literally used to kind of pole vault over the beaver runs. Stupid is as stupid does they say.
I was thinking about that this morning when I went out to get firewood and the cold about took my breath away.

I remember another time Birddog and I went fishing and couldn’t find any open water.

BKB

[Thumper]

I don’t have any crazy hunting/fishing related insanity to report. All my crazy “can’t believe I lived through that’s” were either booze/drugs, wimmins/pissed off husbands or cars/motorcycles/insane speeds related.

Off course, things ramped up a bit in the military. I wasn’t too worried about the enemy taking me out (which I probably should have been a few times), but more like what I heard most from “upper management”. “Kribbs! Are you fuckin’ crazy? You should be dead right now!!!”

TBH, I never expected to live to see 30 anyway. [emoji1787]


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[Chicken Dinner]

One of my best duck hunting memories is four of us in a 12’ John boat with an old Sear air cooled 3hp where we had to literally drive the front end of the boat up onto the ice to break a path across the river to out blind.


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[quercus alba]

I duck hunted one morning in 13 degree weather standing waist deep in an old slough. The guy I hunted with that morning had never hunted with me and he got mad because I killed every duck I shot at and he killed one. He never went back with me. oh yeah, found out I had a hole in my waders about hip pocket high too, it was actually warmer in the water than it was out.

Running yoyo's and trotlines in sub 20 degree weather ain't no fun either but those white perch and little channel cats will tear it up in cold conditions. We'd leave one man on the bank feeding the fire while the other two run the hooks. Many is the time I've had to break ice in the shiner bucket.

the stupidity of youth

[Thumper]

Oh yeah, I just remembered my craziest fishing experience! After the “fall of Saigon” in April ‘75, I relocated down to Southern Thailand to help with the abandonment of Vietnam, which included rescuing and/or the intake of “boat people”. During that mission, the “Mayaquez Incident” took place and my mission changed to Cambodia.

During that mission, I befriended a local, village fisherman and he was always inviting me to go fishing with him. I was there 4-5 months I think, and finally got the time to take him up on his offer. We headed out into the Gulf of Thailand (located between Thailand and Cambodia). We got out to an area where he said the fishing was really good and he shut the engine down and we just drifted.

He laid out a couple of long-handled landing nets on the deck, then opened a big dry box he had on board. I thought he was going to set me up with a hand-line, but as he turned around, I noticed he had a box of dynamite in his hands! He laid those out, then with a big grin, he reached into the box again and brought out a couple of frigging hand grenades! He said the grenades were “fun”!

I have to admit, we “netted” a lot of fish that day! [emoji1787][emoji106]


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