Shark Attack
The day that I checked into the Navy Base at Whiting Field in Milton, Florida I met Ben. Ben was arriving straight from boot camp. He was from Nebraska and had never seen saltwater and had never fished. I took him under my wing.
I promised Ben that he would catch a fish. There was a spot that I knew in Pensacola Bay that consistently produced trout in the three to five pound range (5 lbs being the largest I had ever caught). To get to the fish it was necessary to wade about 100 yards in knee deep water to get to the channel. An inner tube with a Styrofoam cooler of live shrimp was towed on a rope and rods were carried.
Ben had mentioned in passing one day that just the idea of sharks ?made him uncomfortable?. As we waded out to the channel Ben seemed to be enjoying the scenery and the prospect of catching a fish. I didn't know whether or not Ben was concerned about sharks at the moment but just in case I made some effort to put his mind at ease. I pointed out that it was unlikely that the larger man-eating sharks would be up in the bay. I said that the smaller offspring were not nearly so dangerous and attacks were seldom fatal. I showed him a scar on the calf of my leg ( from a fall on a broken bottle) and commented that, though it had required stitches, no real harm had been done. I suggested that if we saw a fin cutting through the water we would probably be wise to return to the beach for awhile. Of course, this was all just innocent conversation to pass the time while wading to the channel.
When we came to the channel I recommended that we stand back from the edge a bit. I may have inferred that any shark coming up out of that channel would be easier to spot in the clear shallow water and afford us an opportunity to exit to the beach.
I put a large shrimp on Ben's hook and showed him how to cast. I told him that he was to keep the bail open and hold the line lightly against the rod. When he felt the line pull under his finger he was to remove his finger letting the line run. I explained that I had a system that kept me from getting over anxious and trying to set the hook too soon. When the trout started its run I would stick the rod under my arm, reach in my pocket for a cigarette, light it, put the rod back in my hands, and close the bail. When the trout pulled the slack out of the line I would set the hook.
Ben made his first cast. It wasn't great. He seemed to be nervous and a bit distracted. Probably due to fishing with a professional. I got busy fishing and Ben got busy searching for sharks. Thus he failed to notice the line clouding off of his reel. I pointed this out. Ben looked down and noticed the line leaving his reel in a rush, got excited, and began whipping the rod around all over the place. The bail must have hit against his hand because it closed at exactly the right time to set the hook perfectly. Ben envisioned this fish as a six foot monster and fought it with everything he had. As he reeled he jerked the rod in every direction. He threw slack in the line and then jerked it out only to do it again. Anyone else would have lost that fish. The trout remained hooked though and eventually Ben managed to pull it up the ridge from the deep channel and into clear knee deep water. I could see that it was the biggest trout I had ever seen and estimated that it would run seven to eight pounds. Nearing the surface its large fin broke water. In a heartbeat Ben went from being ?uncomfortable about the idea of sharks? to absolute terror. He screamed, ?Shark!? threw the rod out into the channel, jumped back, tripped, and fell against the tube with the Styrofoam box of live shrimp. His hand and arm went through the flimsy top. As his fall continued the tube overturned and the bait went into the water. However, the top stayed with his arm. Ben came out of the water with a terrifying screech convinced that the top was the shark eating his arm. The top fell off as he scrambled to his feet and high tailed it for the beach. I guess having a shark eat your arm is kind of a religious experience because Ben stayed on top of the water all the way to the beach.
The worn out trout tried to swim back into the channel but I dove for it and managed to get both hands around it. In doing so I broke the line and lost the rod. I had the fish though and held it up and yelled for Ben to return. I was excited to have this monster trout in hand but Ben wasn't impressed. He had seen much bigger fish mounted on walls. To Ben a fish was a fish was a fish regardless of species.
I got Ben to hold the trout with both hands. Then, like an idiot, I reached my hand down into the cavern that was its mouth to remove the hook from deep in its throat. The trout closed its mouth. I don't know whether it would have had the power to hurt me but having those needle sharp teeth close on my hand startled me and I yelped and jerked my hand out of its mouth. The skin on the back of my hand and my palm was shredded. It scared Ben and he let out a yell and pitched that trout over his head and back toward the channel. The trout was injured and disoriented but when I dove for it, it slipped through my fingers. I kept trying and the trout kept wiggling away. I swam alongside it as it moved into the channel but I couldn't manage to grab it. Eventually it recovered enough to escape and I lost both fish and rod. I was really disappointed to lose that fish. I wanted to take a picture of me holding the trout. And Ben too, of course. Ben would certainly have deserved some of the credit for landing that fish and I was prepared to say so ? if he happened to be around.
There is a moral to this story. I think that it may have something to do with recognizing the difference between gentle teasing and cruelty. Which reminds me. Have I ever told you how Ben ran into a piling and knocked himself out when someone convinced him that land crabs were actually huge attack spiders?
The day that I checked into the Navy Base at Whiting Field in Milton, Florida I met Ben. Ben was arriving straight from boot camp. He was from Nebraska and had never seen saltwater and had never fished. I took him under my wing.
I promised Ben that he would catch a fish. There was a spot that I knew in Pensacola Bay that consistently produced trout in the three to five pound range (5 lbs being the largest I had ever caught). To get to the fish it was necessary to wade about 100 yards in knee deep water to get to the channel. An inner tube with a Styrofoam cooler of live shrimp was towed on a rope and rods were carried.
Ben had mentioned in passing one day that just the idea of sharks ?made him uncomfortable?. As we waded out to the channel Ben seemed to be enjoying the scenery and the prospect of catching a fish. I didn't know whether or not Ben was concerned about sharks at the moment but just in case I made some effort to put his mind at ease. I pointed out that it was unlikely that the larger man-eating sharks would be up in the bay. I said that the smaller offspring were not nearly so dangerous and attacks were seldom fatal. I showed him a scar on the calf of my leg ( from a fall on a broken bottle) and commented that, though it had required stitches, no real harm had been done. I suggested that if we saw a fin cutting through the water we would probably be wise to return to the beach for awhile. Of course, this was all just innocent conversation to pass the time while wading to the channel.
When we came to the channel I recommended that we stand back from the edge a bit. I may have inferred that any shark coming up out of that channel would be easier to spot in the clear shallow water and afford us an opportunity to exit to the beach.
I put a large shrimp on Ben's hook and showed him how to cast. I told him that he was to keep the bail open and hold the line lightly against the rod. When he felt the line pull under his finger he was to remove his finger letting the line run. I explained that I had a system that kept me from getting over anxious and trying to set the hook too soon. When the trout started its run I would stick the rod under my arm, reach in my pocket for a cigarette, light it, put the rod back in my hands, and close the bail. When the trout pulled the slack out of the line I would set the hook.
Ben made his first cast. It wasn't great. He seemed to be nervous and a bit distracted. Probably due to fishing with a professional. I got busy fishing and Ben got busy searching for sharks. Thus he failed to notice the line clouding off of his reel. I pointed this out. Ben looked down and noticed the line leaving his reel in a rush, got excited, and began whipping the rod around all over the place. The bail must have hit against his hand because it closed at exactly the right time to set the hook perfectly. Ben envisioned this fish as a six foot monster and fought it with everything he had. As he reeled he jerked the rod in every direction. He threw slack in the line and then jerked it out only to do it again. Anyone else would have lost that fish. The trout remained hooked though and eventually Ben managed to pull it up the ridge from the deep channel and into clear knee deep water. I could see that it was the biggest trout I had ever seen and estimated that it would run seven to eight pounds. Nearing the surface its large fin broke water. In a heartbeat Ben went from being ?uncomfortable about the idea of sharks? to absolute terror. He screamed, ?Shark!? threw the rod out into the channel, jumped back, tripped, and fell against the tube with the Styrofoam box of live shrimp. His hand and arm went through the flimsy top. As his fall continued the tube overturned and the bait went into the water. However, the top stayed with his arm. Ben came out of the water with a terrifying screech convinced that the top was the shark eating his arm. The top fell off as he scrambled to his feet and high tailed it for the beach. I guess having a shark eat your arm is kind of a religious experience because Ben stayed on top of the water all the way to the beach.
The worn out trout tried to swim back into the channel but I dove for it and managed to get both hands around it. In doing so I broke the line and lost the rod. I had the fish though and held it up and yelled for Ben to return. I was excited to have this monster trout in hand but Ben wasn't impressed. He had seen much bigger fish mounted on walls. To Ben a fish was a fish was a fish regardless of species.
I got Ben to hold the trout with both hands. Then, like an idiot, I reached my hand down into the cavern that was its mouth to remove the hook from deep in its throat. The trout closed its mouth. I don't know whether it would have had the power to hurt me but having those needle sharp teeth close on my hand startled me and I yelped and jerked my hand out of its mouth. The skin on the back of my hand and my palm was shredded. It scared Ben and he let out a yell and pitched that trout over his head and back toward the channel. The trout was injured and disoriented but when I dove for it, it slipped through my fingers. I kept trying and the trout kept wiggling away. I swam alongside it as it moved into the channel but I couldn't manage to grab it. Eventually it recovered enough to escape and I lost both fish and rod. I was really disappointed to lose that fish. I wanted to take a picture of me holding the trout. And Ben too, of course. Ben would certainly have deserved some of the credit for landing that fish and I was prepared to say so ? if he happened to be around.
There is a moral to this story. I think that it may have something to do with recognizing the difference between gentle teasing and cruelty. Which reminds me. Have I ever told you how Ben ran into a piling and knocked himself out when someone convinced him that land crabs were actually huge attack spiders?
