Weep Wah, Win Flats Pack

Simms offered to provide a give-away for a blog contest but I couldn’t think of anything because I’ve endured a series of skunks and bad luck and my brain is fried. But then I read a brothers in arms post from Murdock and it hit me; when it’s going bad  I don’t take comfort in reading how great the fishing has been for you and looking at all your hero shots. I want misery.

So tell me your worst day fishing story and I might pick you to win a prize: The Simms Dry Creek Flats Pack.


Post a comment, 200 words or less please, telling me about your worst day on the water. In the spirit of bad game shows, most pathetic wins. Make one up for all I care, this is a fishing blog not NPR. On Wednesday, July 1st I’ll pick a winner.

20 thoughts on “Weep Wah, Win Flats Pack”

  1. Picture the scene, o3hoo 2 pissed geeza’s out fishin on a lake sitting in a canoe. Sweeet idea Si, Batiste shluurs! Canoe flips, 2 rods,1 large “OPEN” box of lures….sink to the bottom……F**k!!! …….2lt rum and coke floats…….RESULT!- not all is lost……F**K….Camera!
    Moral of the story is…..Remember when diving for your sunk camera to take off your life jacket!

  2. Ya’all are starting to sound like me….

    One of the worst ones was getting spooled by an 18 wheeler at Grassy Key while fishing next to the road. Backcast got hung up on the truck driving by and the ensuing sound of line peeling off the reel at 60 mph was like nothing i’ve ever heard…..it’s by far the fastest i’ve ever been spooled.

    Or, when i was 12, dad and me drove 5 hours to go ice fishing in Upstate NY….while i was towing the sled full of gear out to our spot, i fell through the ice. I’m sure you can imagine the ride home……

  3. The worst day I didn’t even get to fish….

    I left work early at 4 in Cincinnati to drive 2 hours back north to home in Lima for a weekend of fishing. As I was leaving work, my phone rang, it was by brother, butt dialing me, and as usual, I listen for a bit to see what he’s getting into, then I heard my motor start on my little 14’ aluminum boat. So I hang up and immediately call him back to see what he’s doing. He had three people in the little boat, and after bluegill fishing all morning they hit up one of the bars on the lake…..I got pissed told him how stupid he was, then hung up on him. Fast forward and hour and a half…. I’m almost home and one of the guys with my brother calls me, which was odd. I missed the call so I called back and got my brother on the phone…..”Kory,” he says, to which I reply, “You suck ‘er didn’t ya?” “Ya, lost all the rods, my wallet with $200 dollars, credit cards and all”.

    So instead of going catfishing that night, I drove to the lake, found someone to take me out their boat to find where my brother was, watched the warden drag my boat to the ramp, then spent the rest of the night cleaning it. Not to mention that even though I wasn’t there, I got a warning from the warden for not having enough life vests…….

    little over 200 words….sorry

  4. 200 words on the button-

    Day 2 began like most fishing trips, me wading as far from the access as I could; in search of tranquility and endless possibilities. For some reason, fish on the upper Delaware seem to own me. Yet there I was, full of hope on the upper West Branch, going through fly after fly, and watching refusal after refusal.

    Then without warning, the consequence of enjoying too many watered down domestic beverages the night before caught up to me in the form of a slimy, wet shart. The bank was lined with houses in both directions so I couldn’t take care of the mess in the woods, so I did what any man would do.

    I kept working the fish.

    He was just out of range, so I waded a few steps deeper. As I did so, the Delaware’s kung fu grip around my legs wrung out the stagnant cloud of air from within. The smell, combined with the 95* June heat was too much to handle, and I covered the water with a blanker hatch of cheetos and pork rinds. The fish weren’t happy, and they showed their discontent by snubbing my offerings for the rest of the trip.

  5. Age – around 12 yo
    Location – Lake Okeechobee

    Fishing the rim canal with an older buddy, and we hadn’t caught a thing all morning. Decide to head into the lake for bass, in john boat. My first time going through the lochs, buddy tries bolting before the gate is fully opened – I freak out and toss the anchor over. Rope wraps around the prop, shearing the pin. We row into the lake.

    Then, while fishing (with trolling motor), my buddy somehow snags a big moccasin, which he subsequently hauls in and drops in the boat. Snake is pissed, and I crap my pants…literally. We fished until dark, me with soiled pants because I was too scared to jump in the water with moccasins around.

    Buddy’s dad finally came and found us and towed us home. Needless to say I never fished that area with him again.

  6. Seeing my life flash in rapid motion stills while dragging a client through the wet and slippery bush as we were trying to get the heck out of the way during a series of false charges from a rutting young bull moose through an alder thicket while trying to load my rifle and use bear spray at once. No bones were broken, but some blood was shed.

    Needless to say, he never returned.

  7. I have had many bad days but this was the worst:

    I was fishing in late winter for steelies here in ohio. It had been a slow, cold friggin’ day. I didn’t see much sunlight so I was wearing my prescription glasses instead of sunglasses. Well they kept fogging up and I was getting frustrated, so I made one last cast and hooked up with a small steelhead, and I had begun to sweat and my lenses were fogging up, so I took them off. As I was going to net my fish, the nymph pulled out of the fishes mouth, and the beadheaded, leaded down b****** hit me in the eye. I said a few swears and walked back to the car. I unsuited and and got into the car. When I got home I realized two things, I left my waders and rod at the parking lot. Got the waders back, but never heard from my rod and reel again.

  8. I was fishng the wonderful Davidson River early one morning before the “clan of fly fisherman” arrived or so I thght. I got to my spot near the Hatchery Bridge. Was leaned against the ol log and suddenly, bam ou of no where as I was watching about 6 other fishermen coming into the water the biggest fish I have seen on that river hit mt size 20 midge….jumped out of the water trying to shake the hook, the fish was a big brown about 20 inches or more……suddenly some guy says,”looks like you got a big one, can I help you land him?” Sure, cause I knew I had to go easy and I would have never landed by myself…..he eased on the water came up on the fish, one, two, three, four times, lowered his net as I grinned and SNAP!, my 6x tippet gave way……he looked at me like “what the h… did you do, then I looked at him like what the h…. did you do. We both laughed and said well….that didnt go so well did it. Then, he said, I guess if you had any experience we couldve landed that fish, after 10 yrs experience, I looked as though my candy bar had been stolen after hearing that and proceeded to get pissed, suddenly I stepped and my felt had came off the boot I stepped with and under I go, it was about 40 degrees outside and water extremely cold! He then proceeded to say, do you not have felt on, I just climbed out of the water and went to the car with my head hung low and a pissed off attitude to follow. Later, I learned of someone catching the Brown I lost, it measured about 24 inches. Then, he wins the outdoorship competetion, the the fly fishing contest in Cherokee and so on………..

  9. On one of my better days on the water, I somehow did the two things I do most often at the same time. Out fishing with my brother, away from civilization, I fell in on a cold, windy, October day. Completely soaked, I realized that I had just lost cell phone #10 (now 14) to fishing. After my bro had a good laugh at my current state and my cell phones we decided to head back to my old car to warm up and head home. Arriving back at the car, I realized I also locked the keys in the car for the 4th time while fishing. After really hearing it from my bro, we had to walk to the nearest town to randomly ask a stranger to use their cell phone. We looked like we had been through hell and it was pitch black out. Luckily, the first person willingly helped us. Since then, it’s a running joke to ask me about my phone or car keys while fishing. I just shake my head and fish on.

  10. 4 day, 3 night trip to the boundary water canoe area on the Minnesota/Canada boarder. 5 hour canoe and portage trip to camp. No campfires because of fire restrictions. 8 hours a day in a canoe on crystal clear water and abundant wildlife. Beautiful weather (except some wind on day 3), didn’t keep track of the bass we caught, 2 beautiful northern pikes…which tasted very yummy for dinner. Bear in camp ripped up our water containers. Why was this my worst fishing trip? No walleye! C’mon, what does a guy have to do?


  11. Just last week, on the mighty Genesee River, I hooked into a carp. I fought that beast for 40 minutes until I finally landed it. In the commotion of landing it, I got either stuck by something or bit by the carp. Later that night at a family function, I did the traditional hug and kiss greeting with all my family members. Unknown to me, I had been infected with some deadly bug, and then through civilized cheek kissing I passed it on to all my family members, who have all died because of me. As I write this, I can feel my airway constricting and my heart rate increasing….I fear I wont make it long enough to receive my prize.

    Those darn carp!!!

  12. 35 degrees F 30 mph wind out of the east and a light rain. NO fish biting NO fish caught. River up a foot and did I mention 4 cold fonts in 2 days and another on the way. Oh by the way, stopped at a greasy spot for breakfast and it caused a colitis flare up. Other than that it was a great day.

  13. Here it is, it’s been fishing season for a month and I’ve wet a line once…and that was a hook and worm (shame on me!). So my loving wife says ,”Let’s take a few days and go down Margaree way and fish a bit, you need the time fishing!” Not being a fool I readily agreed. For three days I fish my big white butt off…5 or 6 parr and a couple of very small brookies, but it was just being out on the water that counts right?!?! So the bad part of it? The wife catches 10 / 11 inch trout every day like they were paid to bite her hook. I tried to explain that bait fishing doesn’t count and that we weren’t competing. To which she replies,” How come when you fish down South with Mark (best friend) you always compete?” Women just don’t understand that bass fishing in Florida aint fly fishing in Nova Scotia…and I have to live with ,”I catch more than you do!”

  14. A group of buddies and I booked a Rock Cod trip out of Morrow Bay.
    The weather was looking down but we decided to go anyways.
    The trip was for a Half day so if the fishing was bad we weren’t going to lose
    out on much.
    We start the trip out with 3-5 feet in swells. Not to bad but as the morning went on
    the swells grew and grew. Fishing in 5+ ft swells became difficult if not impossible as
    our bait and lines were moving up and down very quick instead of hanging out at level location.

    The boat started to head in as the weather was turning for the worst and people stopped fishing and started throwing up.
    When we got close to the dock I noticed something that I have never seen before.
    I have never seen the bottom of the ocean floor from the dock of a fishing boat
    except for that day.
    Each time the swells went out I could see the ocean floor.

    So with the ocean moving so much we had no choice but to move back out
    to the nearest bait barge.
    From the bait barge we escorted by the coast guard on a little dingy two to three
    people at a time to the dock.

    I say by far this has to by my worst fishing experience.

    Kern Fishing

  15. Picture a 12 year old on his first ice fishing trip with his dad. They drag the ice house on sleds out to a group of fisherman huddled over holes at 3 in the morning. The father sets up, stokes the blast furnace with some pellets and strips down to some bermuda shorts and steps outside telling everyone how “hot” he is and instantly making enemies of the 10 or so odd fisherman bundled up against the wind. Minutes later, his 12 year old son hooks what must be a monster Lake trout. The rod plunges and the kid gamely fights the unseen beast, staring into the dark hole hoping for a glimpse of the fish. His excited dad rushes out into the cold claiming a battle of epic proportions occuring within the warm and cozy confines of the ice house. Minutes pass that seem like hours and the 12 year old lunches, pulls and reels the the monster up from the depths, but instead of a huge lake trout, he finds a tangle of fishing line connected to one of the laughing crowd outside in the cold. Amongst the tangled line is a small zip lock bag, complete with a note scribbled hastily on a coffee receipt. The message…”sorry charlie.”

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