Is It Science or Plain Bad Luck? (below)

Perilous Angling in the Land of the Hock-Tooey Fish

A Florida Fisherman in the Galapago Islands
part 1 - The Big Score


Is It Science or Plain Bad Luck?

Calamity always bypassed Jack and found me nearby; but his grace eroded and in recent years my fishing buddy has walked the line between scientific research and plain bad luck. I may have set him on this obscure path one summer afternoon.  We were shuffling barefoot through the shallows of the Indian River snagging sting rays just to feel a fish on the line.

"Holy shit, Jack.  Look at my rod.  Listen to the drag peel out.  I think this one's a bonefish."

"Yeah, well I've got a marlin.  Look at him greyhound, Jack said smugly as he skipped an unimpressed sting ray across the surface. …
 

I suggested brightly, "Hey, why don't you let it sting you so we can see what it's like."

In the next instant my partner was bent over clutching his right arm trying to find strength to trudge to shore.  As if it judged that idea splendid, the ray had flipped one hundred eighty degrees and nailed him in the forearm.

It turned out to be far worse than we suspected. Later we would learn that sting rays inject a venom comparable to rattlesnake. Jack's arm tripled in size (body builders take note) and he insisted that he was experiencing agony. At this point our agendas diverged. He just wanted to go back to Orlando for medical attention but I was faithful to our original purpose, to fish that night -at the locks.

The attack had occurred at Port Canaveral so we drove the short distance to Jetty Park in search of advice.  There we met a lifeguard who recommended application of that time honored cure-all, urine.

I volunteered; "Let my healing fountain quell your throbbing arm".

With a disappointing lack of gratitude, the patient refused treatment.

Next we purchased whiskey for medicinal purposes. Out of sympathy I downed the foul liquid as well. We fished all night, never enjoying it more. My partner claimed that indeed, he had done it all in the interest of science and I've never been inclined to dispute it, having no evidence to the contrary.

Last November Jack and I were fishing out at the St. John's near the headwaters, barefoot as always. We had to cross a narrow shin deep slough and my buddy went first. Jack was halfway across and I saw him lurch into the air and lunge for the sand bar on the opposite shore where he landed moaning on his side.

Once again I couldn't be sure of the enigmatic fellow's motive.  But whether it was bad luck or science, I knew my natural reaction would not be welcome so I stifled laughter. Slogging to my fallen comrade, it seemed wise to feign genuine concern about his predicament.

"Whatsa matter?  No sleep last night?"

"Right.  I have two huge holes in my foot,"  Jack complained as he clutched that member and rocked on the sand apparently in some kind of death throes.

Sure enough.- He was bleeding like a stuck bag of blood from two spots.  Not a very good scientist, I had only to look where Jack had trod for my explanation.  Plainly visible was a two-by-six just beneath the surface.  Further investigation revealed two nails, one bent and crooked, the same distance apart as the holes in Jack's foot.

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