Sometimes They Bite Back

Ron's fishin' fever had to be satisfied again yesterday after work with another trip to Milldam Creek. He launched about 4 p.m., when the mercury still was above 40 degrees but, to Ron's chagrin, soon fell. Because the water level had fallen, he had no problem navigating under the bridge this time.

His plan of attack for this trip was to dangle a crappie Road Runner over the side of his yak, down to about 4 feet, while casting to structure with the floating minnow. The Road Runner he was using had a chartreuse head, with a black grub, and a wee spinner. Unfortunately, no crappie wanted to cooperate, but those ever-frisky chain pickerel in the 17-to-21-inch range (one of which he's holding here) were all over the Road Runner. In no time, he had caught three.

Because of the Road Runner's small size, Ron didn't want to use the pliers to remove it from the pickerels' mouths. But while holding one of those toothy critters by the edge of his lip, he suffered a nick to one of his fingertips, and as luck would have it, the wound wouldn't stop bleeding.

"Wise ol' sailor that I am," said Ron, "I never go into combat without an IFAK (Individual First Aid Kit)." In this case, though, the kit (a standard Red Cross nylon zipped bag with all the basics) had been carried around in the bottom of Ron's black box for a year. And when he went to unzip it, the corroded zipper broke off and fell to the bottom of his kayak, next to the "multiplying red droplets," as he labeled them.

Ron continued trying to catch a crappie or two, while applying pressure to stop the bleeding, but he wasn't achieving either goal. Finally, at 6 p.m., he quit and returned to his vehicle, where he found a few old Band-Aids in the glovebox. He said he thinks it was about 38 degrees when he left for home.

"Today is a wash," said Ron in this morning's email. "Will watch my finger for signs of infection and get a new bag or box for my first-aid kit."