If you read my editor’s log from the June edition, Requiem for a Friend, then you know I lost a great friend and mentor, Don Robertson, earlier this year. I alluded to the fact that I had many stories from my exploits with Don, and while his antics and practical jokes have etched many core memories into my brain, none have been told more times than this one.
Don never fished at night, a surprise given how much he loved striper fishing. One summer day I swung by his beachside trailer to say ‘hello’. After a short conversation it was obvious that Don was jonesing for some striper action. I had been crushing fish at a nearby outlet after dark and invited him to join me. He said, “I never catch fish at night.” I assured him that if he used what I told to him to use, he would catch fish.
We made the long walk out to the cut and waded into the warmth of the July surf. I handed Don a pearl (wonderbread) Bomber and practically had to force him to put it on. Skeptical, he watched as I made the first cast and instantly hooked up to a 15-pounder. We were in waist-deep water with current, as I reeled the fish close, I warned Don, “Unhook the fish in shallower water, it’s much easier when you’re not dealing with them at face level.”
Within seconds Don was tight to a fish of comparable size and did as I instructed. After five fish, he grew tired of this routine and tried to unhook one in place. It was a new moon and – as my grandfather used to say – ‘darker than the inside of a black cow’, but I could see Don’s silhouette against the deep grey sky, “DON!” I admonished him, he brushed me off, “I got this!”
Seconds later the fish shook free of his grasp and heard him yelp in pain, the fish was hanging from the plug with a hook buried in his hand! I tried to get there to alleviate the pressure of the hanging fish, but I couldn’t cut through the current fast enough, he reached across with his other hand and now both hands were hooked with the thrashing fish still attached!
I came to his side and grabbed the fish and his rod and we limped back to shore as a unit. He fell to his knees when we hit the sand and the fish went berserk! But mercilessly, shook free of the hooks. I released the fish and reached for my light, I couldn’t find it! I had lost it in the commotion! Don couldn’t find his either! I was wearing one of those Indiglo watches at the time which would illuminate a pale green when a button was pushed. I used that light to assess the damage. One hook was hopelessly buried in the pad of his thumb. The other was near the surface on the ‘pinky side’ of the back of his other hand. The only tool I had was a pair of pliers.
I used the crook of the pliers to cut the hooks free from the plug. Once his hands were free, Don savagely ripped the hook out of the back of his hand, but the one is his thumb was going nowhere! I told him we had to go to the ER but he flat-out refused. I still don’t know why! But he also insisted that we had to get it out NOW. He wanted me to pull it out with the pliers, but I knew that wasn’t possible! We argued for a good 10 minutes before I agreed to try it.
He knelt on one knee placing the wrist of the hooked hand on his bent knee and leaning on it with his other forearm, holding it down. I grabbed the hook with the pliers and gave him one last opportunity to back out, he said, “Just do it, yank as hard as you can!”
I told him I’d do it on a three count. ONE, I felt his arms tense and heard him hold his breath… TWO! I pulled on two, so he wouldn’t flinch. I yanked so hard that I pulled him right off his feet. He crumpled forward, shrieking in pain, the hook didn’t budge! He was mad, not at me, just at the whole situation we cut the hook so it wouldn’t cause more problems on the walk back and – in spite of him getting a little woozy when we crossed the inlet – we made it back.
He was still adamant that he wouldn’t go to the ER and I was done trying to perform surgery in the field. So we woke up a friend to see if he could help. The poor guy answered the door in his underwear and was thrust into a dire and painful, situation. But, with more tools at his disposal, he did manage to extract the hook without too much pain and without the dreaded trip to the ER.
I think the best thing we can hope for in life is to meet people who have a way of making the ordinary into something memorable. Don was certainly that and he will be sorely missed among all the anglers that knew him.
