WTF Wednesday #2: Hooked on Fishing

When I posted those 10 secrets that were required for the Honest Scrap Award, one dealt with having skewered myself with a fish hook.  If that's not a reason to say WTF, I don't know what is.*

It started out simply enough... my brother Waldo and I decided to go fishing at the local park about three blocks from our house.  Not yet devotees of Izaak Walton, we had very simple equipment... a rod and reel, a bamboo pole, some fishing line, a couple of hooks and some worms we dug up in the backyard.

We figured we knew what we were doing.  Waldo even caught a few fish.  I wasn't having any luck... the fish just ate the worms off my hook.  WTF?

At one point during the outing, my bamboo pole was laying on the ground as I squeamishly impaled yet another worm onto the hook.  (I didn't like that part, but Waldo refused to do it for me.)  About the same time, Waldo decided to switch spots and walked around me on the path. Tripping over my bamboo pole, he went flying.  With no spinning reel to let out some slack, the line tightened, forcing the hook, worm and all, into my finger.

WTF is this fish hook doing in my finger?

WTF is it with this worm still wriggling around on the hook?

WTF... I think I'm dying!

Meanwhile, Waldo was yelling at me for leaving my pole around where it could trip him.  WTF? Here I am dying, and he's blaming me for tripping him?  WTF?

Once he realized I had the barb firmly embedded in my finger, Waldo began to feel a little bit sorry for me.  He even had the wherewithal to detach the worm from the hook that was now permanently attached to my anatomy.  Meanwhile, I clung to my finger, cutting off all the circulation so that the worm germs didn't get into my bloodstream.  My life was passing before my eyes... all 9 years of it.  WTF?  To be brought down in my prime by blood poisoning!

I grew even more faint when we got to the doctor's office and learned that the only way to remove the hook was to push it the rest of the way through my finger, cut off the barb and then pull it back out the other way.  WTF?  Even with novocaine, I was convinced I felt everything.  A tetanus shot later and it was all over.

So the next time you're sitting there thinking, "WTF is that fish hook doing in my finger?", here are some instructions for what to do.  I personally like the last part of Step #9.  I mean, WTF... shouldn't a 9-year-old be given a shot of whiskey in that situation?  I think I deserved it!  

Hey!  They forgot to give me the shot of whiskey!  WTF?

How-to-Pull-a-Fish-Hook-from-Your-Finger

(blatantly stolen from http://www.wikihow.com)

Steps

1. Carefully push the hook through your finger, toe, etc. until it pushes through the other side, unless the barb is not in. It hurts, but it's better than ripping it out the way it came.

2. Take a pair of pliers with wire cutters on them, and cut the barb off the hook.

3. Pull what's left of the hook out. This should hurt a little more, but still way better than ripping the hook out.

4. If bleeding is severe, apply pressure to both sides of the wound until the bleeding slows down and apply a bandage.

5. Get a tetanus shot, just in case the hook is rusty.

6. There is an alternate method for removing a fish hook when it is stuck in deep tissue.

7. Take a foot long piece of fishing string and make a loop around the bend of the hook.

8. Hold string in one hand, and push down on the eye of the hook with the other hand.

9. Distract the patient, then yank the string. Pushing down on the eye of the hook keeps the barb from ripping a much larger hole on the way out.  Apply a band aid and a shot of whiskey if needed.

*(Although at the time it happened, I had no idea what the F word was, let alone WTF.  I'm just sayin'.) 

It Was An Accident! Honest!

I have a brother (we'll call him Waldo) who's 13 months younger than I am.  Because of our closeness in age and because my older sister thought we were total pests and refused to have anything to do with us, we used to hang out together a lot.  And it was usually my brother who came up with the good ideas for things to do.

When he was in about sixth grade  Waldo got a paper route.  He'd go out every day to deliver the daily news to the neighborhood... almost like the old fashioned town crier.  I was in awe of the great wealth he amassed from this gainful employment.  As a man of wealth, Waldo got to buy all sorts of swell stuff.  

Now, being children of the 50's, our heros had always been cowboys.  After playing "Cowboys and Indians" with pearl handled cap guns and suction cup bows & arrows for so many years, Waldo was finally able to buy a real live bow and arrow set!  

I still remember the day he brought it home.  We marveled at the sleek bow, which had to be carefully bent with a powerful arm to attach the string.  And the arrows! Wonderful pointy ends, the shaft fletched with real feathers.  So cool!

Not wanting to miss out on a moment of fun, Waldo ran outside to set things up.  The neighbor kids were also excited.  So much so, that one offered to hold the target for him.  

That would be the paper target.  

That he held between his two grubby little hands.

And he stood steady on as my brother notched the arrow onto the string.

And pulled back.

Whish!  Away the arrow flew!  How graceful!  How dramatic!  It arched upward into the air, sailing, sailing, until it found it's target!  

Lucky for the neighbor kid, Waldo had not yet perfected his aim.  He missed the bulls-eye.

No, it's not what you're thinking!  GEEZ!  How crazy do you think we are?  

Waldo only managed to wing him in the hand.  Seven stitches later, we had all learned our lesson.  

Or, so we thought!

In the attempt to avoid further accidents (and lawsuits) my parents started taking the entire family to a nearby indoor archery range.  It was really cool.  The targets were on conveyor belts so that when you were done shooting, you could simply push a button and the target would come to you so you could retrieve your arrows from the bulls-eye... or surrounding area.

One day, as we were enjoying the range, I was poised in the lane next to my older, more refined sister.  (She actually condescended to join us on this family outing and got dressed up for the occasion.  She was wearing a skirt, sweater and hosiery to impress the young men at the range... I'm sure she was looking really hot.)  This time it was I who notched the arrow, drew the string back to my ear and aimed at the target.  

As they say, always keep your eye on the target.

Just as I was about to let go of the arrow, someone said something to me and I got kinda distracted.  My fingers slipped and the arrow went flying.

No worries, though... it was headed in the right direction.... almost.

It only went slightly off course, making contact with a steel beam strategically placed between the lanes.  (Shit!  Who put that there?)  

Was it my fault the sucker ricocheted off the post, causing it to come flying back in the opposite direction and hit my refined, well dressed older sibling in the leg.  I mean big deal!  

You'd think I'd done it on purpose, the way she went on, screaming and yelling at me and shit!  I mean, it hardly even bled or anything... it didn't even stick in her leg for more than a fraction of a second!  And she didn't need any stitches like the neighbor kid did.  What a whiner! I think she just hated me and wanted to get me into trouble because it ran her nylons.

Anyway, neither Waldo nor I ever made it as Olympic archers.  Our interest in archery began to wane soon after that incident.  But it's not like the experience was all for nought.  I simply added this to my store of cautionary tales to share with the kidlets at school.  They all think I'm very wise... if somewhat accident prone.