Many moons ago when I was just a lad living in Sheboygan, the fall salmon run was a daily event for me. I accidentally snagged a salmon, (no, really, I did. Hated the snaggers and still do.) The critter broke me off. Two days later, fishing far upriver, I got a huge jolt on the end of my line and when I reeled in, it was the lure I lost. I know it was mine, since I did a custom paint job on them. I still have that lucky lure, but by now, the paint has worn off.
When I was in fourth or fifth grade, my dad and I were on our annual camping, fishing trip. I snagged an illegal trotline. It fought like the dickens and as it got closer to the boat, I saw a big bass and thought I’d hooked a real trophy. Seconds later, I saw a northern. More excitement, followed by huge confusion. Did the pike eat my bass? Then we saw the green line. It had ten bass, three pike and two walleyes. To my dads credit, he threw them all back and took the line back to show the warden.
Funny though!