You Would Severely Test the Patience of Even a Saint

We all recognize that statement as something you might say to another person who just really gets on your nerves. And as bad as I hate to admit it, there were a few times back during my youth when I drove my mom or dad to the point where they would say that to me.

These were the thoughts that kept running through my head as I was reading an online account of a very troubled fishing trip.

It seems a boatowner had been coerced into taking an acquaintance fishing at the former's "secret lake." After loading their gear into the boat and shoving off, they had only gone about a hundred yards when the guest announced he had left his tacklebox in the truck. Back to the dock they went. Moments later, they were underway again when the guest realized he also had forgotten his lunch in the truck. So back to the dock they went again. This time, the boater joined the guest for a thorough check of the truck.

As the two were walking back to the dock, the boater looked up and saw his boat floating some 30 feet from shore.

"I thought you tied the boat to the dock," he said to his guest

"Nope, not me," answered the latter.

"Well, one of us is going to get wet," said the boater.

"But I don't swim," replied the guest.

"So what?" stated the boater. "The water's not over your head. It can't be more than five feet deep."

After a lot of whining, the guest finally went in but quickly disappeared. Concerned, the boater quickly peeled off his clothes, sneakers and socks and went in after him. Once he reached the spot where he saw the guest go under, the latter shot up right beside him.

"Fooled ya," said the guest. "I just figured we both should get wet."

Although he felt an urge to hold the guest's head under water, the boater and his guest got out of the water, dried off, and put their clothes on. Soon, they were skimming across the lake, with the Johnson outboard humming along flawlessly.

They had just stopped and started fishing when the guest's first cast went astray.

"Where did my lure go?" he asked.

"You can't see it?" returned the boater.

"No," replied the guest.

"Well, look over here," came the boater's response.

There, hanging from the latter's earlobe, was a treble hook attached to a crankbait that was neatly positioned with one hook piercing his lobe. Blood was running like a faucet down his face.

"What should we do?" shouted the excited guest.

"Get it out!" exclaimed the boater.

"I'll yank it out!" said the guest.

"You will not!" hollered the boater. "Take your dikes and snip the hook off, then gently pull the shank back through the hole."

By this time, the guest was laughing so hard the boater had to help hold his hand while snipping off the hook. Then they went back to fishing, with the boater's earlobe still dripping blood. The wound soon stopped bleeding, but the snickering from the back of the boat continued all day long.

When the boater made a cast up under some overhanging branches, next to his favorite tree, the water exploded. His big bass of a week earlier had returned to the shade along the shoreline.

"Grab the net!" screamed the boater to the guest. Meanwhile, he fought the big fish carefully, slowly moving her close to the boat so the guest could net her. "Where are you?" he shouted to the guest.

"I've got my rod caught in the net," came the guest's reply.

"Well, hurry up!" the boater barked.

As the fish turned on its side and was ready to come aboard, the guest shoved the net over the side of the boat, hit the bass solidly on the head, the hook came loose, and the prize fish was gone. The boater sat down on the floor of the boat and just looked at his hook. It had been straightened out by this fish of a lifetime.

"Don't cry," said the guest.

"I'm not crying, you nincompoop," said the boater. "I'm just wondering if I'll get caught if I throw you overboard."

Throughout the remainder of that day, the boater had recurring flashes of that big fish being knocked off his hook. To make matters worse, the guest attempted to apologize at least a hundred times but broke out laughing each time.

"Well," said the guest, "at least I can let everyone know that you had the fish right up next to the boat."

"Look," replied the boater, "under no circumstances are you to tell anyone about this lake, that fish, or any part of this day." He subsequently couldn't stop thinking, "Now I have to worry about his gums flapping as he tells everyone in the world about that fish and my 'secret lake'."

The guest promised he wouldn't, though, and the two decided to forget about it and have lunch. As the guest handed him a sandwich, though, it was soaking wet.

"What happened to my lunch?" asked the boater.

"I don't know," replied the guest. "I put it in that storage bin."

"That's not a storage bin, you numbskull," the boater said. "That's a livewell."

"What's a livewell?" asked the guest.

"That's where we keep the fish to be weighed in during tournaments," said the boater. "It's full of water."

The guest's subsequent last comment before jumping off the boat was, "Can we go fishing again next week?"