Stories behind the capture

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Editor's Note: Bob Britzke of Eureka Springs is the Arkansas Democrat-Gazette 2019 Fish History Champion. His story, along with others inscribed in the annual contest, is presented today.

High dollar fish

By Bob Britzke

Eureka Springs

When I was fishing in Canada last year, I tried a new $ 20 wave bait with high expectations. Sure enough, a 24-inch pike hit him on the first pitch. When my guide grabbed the wire rope to land the fish, the crack broke. The fish and the lure of the high dollar were gone, and I had no other.

Several hours later, and in a place hundreds of meters away, I hooked a pike to a Mepps roulette. When I landed it, I had my very large and expensive wave bait still hanging from its lower jaw. What are the odds of that with thousands of pikes in that lake?

A hook, many fish

By Tom Fletscher


I did not have much in common with my father, but we did have fishing!

My parents divorced when I was young. Virtually all my visits with dad involved fishing. It was the only way we really communicated.

First, my history of fish, which is 100% true. I have photos!

Once I caught 13 fish on ONE hook, with ONE piece of bait submerged in the water ONE time!

Was 10. We were fishing in "The cement boat of the Second World War" that ranged, and was never retired, from Half Moon Bay, California.

There were many old men fishing that day, without much luck. Finally I caught a very big fish. All the old people were amazed and they gave me a pat on the shoulder.

We had a bucket full of water from the Pacific Ocean to keep the fish alive.

About 15 minutes later, when dad caught a fish and was going to add it to the covered bucket, we discovered that my big fish (now much smaller) had given birth to 12 babies while it was in the bucket.

It turns out that it was a type of oceanic perch that lives live.

Side note: the men tried to use the youth as bait, but they did not stay on the hook.

My father told that story with pride and out loud to anyone who would listen until the day he died.

Fairway fish

By Chad Hicks


While some friends and I were on a golf trip in South Carolina, we played a round at the Pawley plantation. On the 5th hole I was looking for my ball after driving it in the woods as usual when I heard some crows go crazy over something along with a golf partner who shouted: "Look at that!" from the fairway.

What happened was that an osprey had snatched a bass from the pond next to the green and the crows were chasing him. The osprey ended up releasing the bass in the middle of the street, not far from my friend's dance. We picked it up, took some pictures and threw it back into the pond. He swam, so maybe he was not so badly hurt.

Fishing in new mexico

By ron rhea

Siloam Springs

I was fishing the Pecos River in New Mexico. I caught many children and put a small live hanger on my rod and reel hoping to catch a bigger one. Soon she left him and staggered on the bar with the hanger on her getting ready to go.

A big bass hit him while I was recovering. He held on until I put him on the bench and then I let myself fall. He had never got the hook, but he wanted the perch to be very bad. Only one that I caught without hooking it. This is a true story of fish.

Fight for fish

By john baker

Eureka Springs

It was a perfect day for fishing. Beautiful blue sky and nice temperature. After hours of generation, when the Engineering Corps stops generating, the water level drops slowly and the water rhythm decreases. There are water wells along the river.

I always go to the same place, the honey hole near Parker Bottoms in the water of Beaver's tail. The key is to cross the river to the other side. This particular day, the river was unusually low, which facilitates the crossing. There were also lots of small pools of water, perfect for temporary storage of their trout, keeping them fresh and alive.

My next launch was interrupted by a huge bird that was flying downstream about three feet from my head. Indeed, this bald eagle, after scaring me, plucked one of my trout from the pool and proceeded to land on a tree on the shore and devour my catches.

There was a family fishing from the bank a little downstream, and I asked them, "Did you see that?" They just laughed.

I guess he was proud to feed that beautiful bird. That amazing eagle could see those trout in that little puddle of water almost a mile away. The bald eagles are awesome.

Towing the line

By David and Rhonda Higgenbothem


My wife had hooked and brought along the side of the canoe, a gar between four and five feet long. This was our biggest fish, and frankly we were both a little scared about that.

Our net was useless for such a large fish, and none of us wanted to handle five feet of needle-sharp teeth. I told Rhonda to sit down and keep the line steady.

While digging in my rigging box for pliers, the ship began to turn. The beast was towing us! Upstream! For various lengths of canoes! Against the tide!

And then, for no apparent reason, the spinning bait was released. Silence stunned. I finally said, "Wow, that was close". And Rhonda said: "Yes, but not gar."

Responsible fishing

By George Rowland


Two young children, ages 13 and 11, learn the rules of fishing while enjoying the thrill of fishing in life. A father who was an Arkansas ranger in the summer of Arkansas County around 1950. The place of the Lower White River, the natural lakes.

Dad would take us to work with him and leave us in peace after the trip along the White River channel on the shore. Then, a short walk on a dusty road to Big White Lake.

Two young boys with a fishing rod, another fishing rod, artificial baits in plastic boxes in our pockets, a small metal ice box, a water bottle, Vienna sausages in cans and a short palette.

What a wonderful sight to see the lake and a boat that a sportsman friend had left in the lake after the flooding of the forests in spring. It seemed that the lake was near the end of the world in the location.

The bream would hit the bug in almost every release. The lows were a bit slower as I paddled this little boat around the edge of this great lake. I caught many breams to have to return them because the limit was 20 at that time.

We watch our clock on the way back to the ramp to meet dad. Therefore, late in the afternoon it was urgent to get a higher gilt limit for the limit of 20. Yes, I let the little brother reach his limit with my rod as well.

They learned a real lesson in life about how to be prepared, the fishing laws, take care of themselves in the wild forests and in the lake water with the trust and respect of a father. Growing up as smaller children to return to the city, sharing as always this mess of fish with older friends who sway on their porches with appreciation.

Now I have 81 good memories of the past and the word responsibility that has meant a lot in life for me.

He tried them badly

By ron pruitt


When I was 10 years old, we lived in the country on six acres of rolling, treeless prairies. Our house was little more than a hut, there was no running water and the bathroom was a dependency. But we had chickens, pigs, cows and a horse called Zip, and I thought our acres were a great playground.

My father had a pond dug in the back corner of our place, but the thin meadow could not contain the water. When a great rain came, the pond filled up, but in a few days all the water would seep out and the pond would be dry like Nevada.

One night, a violent storm arrived. Dad woke me up in the middle of the night, and we hurried down the road to the cellar of a neighbor's storm and snuggled up until it happened. The next morning, in the field on the other side of the road from our house, a clear and wide road had been ripped through the tall grasses. Dad said he thought a tornado had touched the ground and cut the road.

The following Saturday, I got bored, since 10-year-old children are often in the summer. I asked dad if he could go fishing in our pond while he still had some water.

"You can go down there, but you will not take anything," he said. "There's nothing in that thing."

I grabbed my cane cane and headed anyway. Down in the pond, I was glad to discover that I still had some water. I baited my hook and pulled my line and put the end of the stick into the dam of the pond. I did not expect to catch anything. Actually, I had gone down to the pond to swim, which was strictly forbidden by my mother, who had a mortal fear of drowning me.

I put on my underwear and was preparing to jump when my red and white bobber went crazy. I ran and grabbed my stick just before it was dragged into the water. I jumped on my line and, to my surprise, pulled on a big old catfish, as long as my arm.

Almost as excited as a child can be, I took the fish off the hook and ran across the fields to the house, screaming for dad and mom. They must have thought I was in trouble or hurt because the two of them were in the yard when I came running.

"Look what I caught," I said, looking at Daddy.

"That will make a good powerful dinner," he said and although he did not say it, I could tell by the expression on his face that he was proud of me.

When I looked at Mom, she had a stern expression and said, "Why are you in your underwear?"

I was arrested. I confessed my plan to go swimming. In the place, mom forbade me to return to the pond. But at that moment nothing could have damped the pride he felt.

Later that day, after I calmed down and thought about that, I was perplexed.

"How a big old fish like that came into our pond?" I asked him daddy

"I've been thinking about that," he said. "I recognize that the tornado the other night picked it up from some other pond somewhere and dropped it in ours."

We moved to the city the following year. He missed the meadow with the stirring grass, the farm animals, and the freedom to run and explore. But I would never forget that great old catfish that entered my young life as a miracle from above.

It's not worth the problem

By tom main


A few years ago, my brother-in-law, Duane, and I decided to travel to Lake Oahe, north of Pierre, S.D. For a great walleye fishing. We started the trip from Kansas City, Mo. to Interstate 29 to Sioux Falls, S.D., at which point I asked Duane if we needed gas.

He said there was a lot of fuel, even though the gas gauge was broken, and we were hauling a 16 feet. Boat and bucking at 20 mph winds. Three miles from Sioux Falls and at 2 in the morning, the vehicle stopped. Fortunately, we had gas for the starter, and proceeded, with a hand-change funnel in hand, to put enough gas in the vehicle to allow us to return to Sioux Falls to fill up.

We arrived at our camp outside Pierre and proceeded to build our tent for two men next to all the caravans and large campers. We were not intimidated at all. All we wanted to do was catch some fish. The next day we hired a guide, who put us in a good walleye. We brought the fish to the camp and put it in the freezer of the community, marked with our names.

The next day we went fishing again, but the weather became windy, rainy and cold. I, of course, left my rain gear in the truck, so I was not a happy fisherman. We caught a pair of walleye. Upon returning to the camp, I went to the community freezer and discovered that someone had stolen the fish the day before. When I returned to our store to tell Duane about our fish, I knew that the window flap had been left open and that our tent was flooded.

He had had enough Cold, wet, hungry and angry; That was the end of our trip. Sometimes you simply accept that fate is against you and go home.

Good fishing trip

By David Haynes


My friend Randy Jones invited me to go fishing at Hickory Creek in Beaver Lake on April 6, 2019. It was the time of year for the crappie.

So we were using a 1/16 ounce shit template with a 6-pound test line. I dropped my template two or three times, caught a type of fish and later caught a 23-inch walleye. The first one I caught. Pretty exciting

In the next cast I got a strike and told Randy: "I do not know what it is, but it's big." Shot harder than any fish you've caught.

That fish ran around the boat, since it was stripping my line. Randy started the traction motor, trying to keep up with the fish. If not, I probably would have broken my line.

After 15 or 20 minutes I got it next to the ship. It was too big for the net, but it came in enough to get in the boat.

My first striped bass weighed 25 pounds. What a great day for this 78 year old. At the lake, about four hours with Randy, we put the striper back on the lake one more day and reached our fucking limit.

Cotton capers

By Kerry Bercher


Although I thought I knew every little lake less than 20 miles from Fort Smith, the new Torraine Lake was a complete surprise. I had read it in a Times-Record article a few weeks before and I made a commitment to check it when the weather warmed up.

As it was a county lake, unlike the lake of the Arkansas Game and Fish Commission or the US Forest Service. UU., I did not expect much, but in this case it was avant-garde with new roads and parking lots, a large pavilion with picnic tables. and even an air station to air bicycle tires.

As I explored the lake for a few minutes to determine the best place to fish, it became evident when I saw an earth dam with water flowing over it. Apparently, the county agreed with my assessment, since it had built a paved road that ended in that dam, and even a park bench where one could sit and fish.

As I walked along the waste dam to that spot, I noticed that several fishing corks were moving in the water next to the rocks that people had just left behind. That was strange. Another strange point was the lack of other people, since there was only another car in the parking lot on a beautiful spring day that should have been full of retirees.

After assembling a worm on my ultralight platform and throwing it away, I caught a small bream that I put on a crossbar so I would not have to catch it again. Attaching the spar to the shore was a problem, since it was on a 10-foot clay slope that angled toward the water. I saw a small tree that came out of the water where someone had cut a branch, turning it into a natural looking place to spin a metal stringer around.

To get down there, I had to slide down the hill and catch my boot on another cane that grew out of the clay, then lean over one foot in the water and join the spar with my fish. The experience told me that the largest bream would have its back to the prey and facing the wind that was blowing the food along with the current.

After skewering my fifth gilt and working on my sixth, my eye caught a movement near my stringer. I contemplated a 3 ½ foot water moccasin with head back to hit. After jumping and cleaning my pants, I threw a stone at him and he left.

Five minutes later, I saw movement again and there was not one, but two loafers 3 ½ feet long that began to mark me as a team. Obviously, they had done this before, while one of them was holding his head up to hit, while the other was after my fish on the crossbar in the water that was now so muddied by the commotion that the snake was causing that I could not see them .

I looked around for some smaller rocks in the scam and, after finding three, threw one at the protective snake, which twisted its tail and ran. I could not see the other snake. He could be waiting for me to grab the stringer six inches above the waterline and then hit. Or he could have left.

The weather was essential because the guard serpent would come back at any time, so I slid down the hill, put my boot on the cane, reached for food on the water and grabbed the end of my metal stringer. When I pulled it out of the water and ran uphill, I looked back to see that one of the snakes had its fangs sunk deep into one of the breams and was taking it uphill with me. He released me when I reached the top of the hill and I stayed there, cleaning my pants again.

That was the end of what had been a real and fun fishing morning. I returned to throw my possible lunch, mainly sea bream, to the water because I did not know what effect the poison could have on me if I ate them.

As I approached my car, I greeted the only other person who was tying his bike to his bumper. He told me about his fishing trip here years ago, when there was not yet a road there. He got 10 feet into the water with his rod and the moccasins took him back to the bank. He said the place is full of water moccasins.

Everything made sense then. The bobbers left in the water, there are no people fishing there, everything made sense.

Fishermen to the rescue

For ken needs

Beautiful view

I was not on this trip, but it happened at Bull Shoals Lake.

One of the fishermen still lives, named Greg Eischen. We all work for AT & T for many years in Kansas City. My name is Ken Needs. I spent more than 20 years with a group of coworkers who always took an annual excursion to Bull Shoals one or more times a year, at the ferry crossing of Highway 125 from Protem, Mo. to Peel, Arkansas. The trip usually takes place in April or May to catch the springtime frenzy.

One year, as it would have done, the weather became severe. Too early in April, and you could be snowed. The cold weather team was always part

of its preparation Normally, two or more fishing boats would come together and enjoy excellent bass fishing.

One of the boats, near dusk, saw some unidentified objects floating in the water. Upon further examination, they found a ribbon of quail

It landed on the lake. He must have gone too far from the earth, and ended up in the cold spring water.

Being conscientious athletes, they took them out of the water and loaded them in the boat with them, and the quails that were cold and wet were happy to be out of the water.

The Wagon Wheel complex in the recreational area of ​​Highway 125 was the accommodation for the group, so they brought the quail to a hut used for sleeping, they made a tent with a chair and a quilt, they put the quail in the store and went to another cabin. for your dinner

Now, after a good meal and a drink for adults or two, the group retired at night. During the night, one of the occupants of the quail room, Dale, got up during the night to answer a call from nature, and upon leaving the dust room, decided to check the quail and verify its recovery.

Well, he discovered that they had indeed recovered, since when he lifted the quilt that was his temporary cover, the quails are completely normal and will blush as a group when asked to do so. Well, lifting the duvet and the light of the bathroom appearing at dawn, was fast enough and they blushed, as the quail hunters say.

Being confined in the cabin space, they did not fly very far, however, far enough to scatter feathers throughout the room, scare Dale and let him know that his recovery was complete.

Good thing he checked them after leaving the bathroom, instead of before entering.

He opened the cabin door, the quail went back to nature, Dale went back to bed and the cleaning of the feathers was completed the next day.

This event happened many years ago. At that time I was not part of the group of fishermen, but the story was told to me by those present on the trip. Many good memories were made over the years.

In memory of Bill Godsey and Dave Armstrong, who spent many hours scaring the fish in Bull Shoals.

I live in the yankees camp north of Bella Vista.

Flat head fiasco

By Lyndon Edge

(Unlisted hometown)

Several years ago I was fishing in a trot. I was baiting my lines with perch. I felt this sudden surge and decided to go find this fish and come back later and prime it. I did not want the fish to come down. He really felt like a good one.

I reached the floor and he probably weighed 20 pounds. When I started to take it off, I noticed that I had the trotina in my mouth. There was no hook. I thought someone was cheating on me. Finally I realized what happened. Someone had caught this fish but was too busy or lazy to clean it right now. They had cut a small hole in the lower jaw with a knife and hammered a piece of rope through the hole and tied the fishing line. Then they tied the rope to a root or limb or something. They had every intention of eating the fish, but the fish unhooked the rope from the mooring.

The fish was swimming with a rope that followed him everywhere. His chain inadvertently ran on my hook. This fish had no luck. He made a good fried fish. I never knew who originally captured the fish.

An engine is missing

Rusty meyerer


I was fishing in my jon boat with a small outboard in early March on the White River in Goshen.

It was my son's birthday and I needed to get home quickly. As I headed upstream, I knew where the rock banks were and be careful to lift the engine at the right time. When I was going full speed and only a microsecond before I stopped working, I heard a great "POP".

Suddenly he was very calm, and the boat stopped by inertia. Then I realized that I was not holding the accelerator in my hand and I turned around to see nothing but the back of the boat and the water.

When I reached my anchor, I realized that the engine had disappeared. The anchor quickly took hold and was now in the middle of the current. At that moment I heard someone say "stay where you are, I think I can find your engine".

A fly fisherman dressed in good waders and a walking stick walked towards me. I was standing in the water on his waist at the edge of my boat. He started to chop the bottom of the river and found the engine almost directly below where my boat had stopped after being anchored.

When he looked at me, I could immediately see in his eyes that the only way the engine would work again was if he entered later.

The 40-degree water did not look attractive, but losing the engine was not an option. I got down to my boxers, took a deep breath and went inside.

I came up with the engine and I am sure of the blue lips. I walked with the engine to the shore to the applause of several other fishermen who watched from upstream. I wanted to reward the man for his help when I realized that I did not even have my wallet with me. He said he did not expect anything, then hesitated and said, "Well, there's one thing." I said it was a name of yours. He said: "I'd love a picture of you holding that engine right now."

So somewhere (probably on the Internet) there is an image of a cold fisherman soaking in his boxers with a 10-horsepower engine.

Great white shark

By Gerald Kirkland


In 1962 I was a senior in high school. My dad took me on a single trip on a 50-foot fishing boat from Ensenada, Mexico. The fare was $ 6 each for the half-day trip.

I did not have enough gear, so we rented a rod and a reel for myself. It was a huge platform with a reel almost the size of a gallon cube. I've never seen such a big reel. The rental of the platform was $ 1. Times have definitely changed.

We were going after yellow tail. We finally entered a school that looked like the size of a football field. I took the first one and even with the industrial-sized reel I imagined that the fish weighed at least 50 pounds because of the way it fought.

When I got it on him I weighed 11 pounds. I quickly got hooked with my second yellow tail. And as I approached, six huge sharks appeared. I did not know it then, but after watching many on television they were great white sharks. The biggest of the six swallowed the fish of my line carelessly.

He casually swam around, taking me with him, completely around the boat. When the other fishermen left the railing to let me pass, many said, "My God, that thing is half the boat."

I really think it was about 25 feet long. After a complete trip around the ship, I decided to take control. Yeah sure! I propped the short, heavy bar on the railing and used it as a lever. I barely raised my head, but I think this is the first time the shark realizes something is wrong.

He pulled away from the boat and began to walk away slowly. At that moment, the captain realized what was happening and shouted enthusiastically something in Spanish, threw the launch on my reel and wrapped a line around the rail post. It was a thick braided line and when it broke, it sounded like a .22 caliber bullet.

This was approximately 13 years before the movie "Jaws". After watching the movie, I said that they really get so big. By the way, I navigated the only yellow tail because the sharks scattered the school quickly. I won the group of boats, I do not remember how much money, but not much. The memory of the shark is still alive in my mind after 57 years.

Practical umbrella

By vanis sigman


In 2017, my son Stacy and I were fishing at the upper end of Lake Ouachita near Mt. Going. We had fish for several hours for the double bass and we had not put a fish in the boat. It became obvious that we were not using the correct bait. We made the decision to try an umbrella platform.

Stacy took the boat to a small cove that contained several bushes in the water. In his first cast he caught a good goalkeeper. Our confidence increased when another bass reached the line and he began to roll it up.

After he had tilted it towards the middle of the boat, another bass was hooked on the umbrella rig. When the two fish approached, another bass hooked on the platform and the pandemonium untied.

Stacy was trying to keep the three fish out of the brush and I was trying to get a dive net under the fish. Luck was with us and we were able to get the three lows on the boat. Stacy commented that this was the first time it went from not fishing to being limited in less than 10 minutes. Needless to say, we now have a good history of fish to tell many times.

Goose attack

By Sarah McBride


One day I bought some worms and Judy and I went fishing at Lake Atalanta. Judy brought a book and I brought a long chain to Jack Anthony, my old boxer, because Jack was not known to come when he was called.

The lake was full of people, but we found a perfect place with a view of the entire lake. I immediately caught a small moonfish. Judy said it was the most beautiful fish she had ever seen. So I carefully put it back in the water.

Suddenly, a large white goose swam towards Jack and whistled. Jack jumped into the lake and started swimming behind the goose. I screamed, "Jack, come back! You know you can not swim!"

I grabbed the chain and pulled Jack out of the water. Then I heard Judy whisper, "All dogs can swim."

Look up. Do you know how fishermen look when someone is disturbing their fishing? They stare with a cantankerous grimace.

I put Jack in the can and put my fishing cap over my eyes. Judy sat in the car, frowning in a grimace. I walked away slowly. Jack never liked geese after that fishing trip.

Sports on 06/25/2019


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