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John N. Felsher's Zany Adventures
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Maybe it’s my lifelong passion for duck hunting or my love of bird hunting,
but feathered creatures don’t like me.
I have nothing against birds, but they sometimes go out of their way to
annoy me. I’m not talking about the occasional shoulder splatter or the
“decorations” they place on a newly washed truck. Perhaps, that’s because I
haven’t had a newly washed truck in years.
No. Birds really go out of their way to interfere with my business, except
when I’m actually sitting in a duck blind or walking a dove or quail field and
want them to come closer. Birds simply don’t like me even when I’m not
shooting at them.
For instance, one twilight, I was fishing alone on a swampy river. I wanted
to make just a couple more casts with my old faithful Rapala Original Minnow
jerkbait. I worked the bait over the surface as realistically as I could on
ultralight spinning tackle loaded with 6-pound test monofilament.
Apparently, I worked the bait too realistically. With light fading fast, a
great horned owl, who obviously couldn’t see any better than I could in the
gathering gloom, swooped out of the swamp and snatched my lure from the
water. The bird provided the best “strike” all afternoon. Talk about your
ultimate “fly fishing experience!”
Unfortunately, the sharp treble hooks on the lure caught the owl in its
foot. For some reason, that really annoyed the raptor. I could only imagine its
surprise when it flew off with an apparent easy meal only to reach the end of
my fishing line!
Surprise soon switched to abject anger, you might call it rage, as the
embattled and entangled owl few circles over my boat. Not wanting to
condemn the bird to a painful life attached to a three-treble hook topwater bait
coupled with a desire to get my favorite lure back, I continued to fight the
feathered beast.
On the ultralight tackle, the owl gave me one of the most spirited, and
loudest, fights I’v ever experienced. I’m not so sure how good it might taste,
but in pure sporting qualities, the owl certainly beat many other catches I’ve
experienced.
Several times, the owl pulled drag from the reel. A couple times, I thought
it was going to “spool” me. I gained a few feet, only to lose them again. The
battle raged for what seemed like hours, but probably only lasted a few
minutes.
By this time, I couldn’t see much of what was happening above me. I
could keep track of the owl’s progress as it zoomed laps around my boat by
the tension on the line and the noise it made. Make that, the noise it
screamed. It hooted, hissed, growled, cursed and uttered every other irate
sound imaginable. I just can’t imagine why it was so angry with me. It was the
one who fell for the faux fish.
Finally, the owl began to weaken. I recovered enough line so that the
enraged owl materialized out of the darkness only about four feet from me at
eye level. That didn’t seem like a good position at the time, so I flicked the rod
hard and dipped the owl into the now ebony river. I soon discovered that owls
don’t float very well.
Then, I made a move almost as foolish as the owl swatting my bait. I
scooped it in the net and brought it into the boat. The hardest part was lipping
him and putting him in the livewell. No, just kidding about that.
Partially immobilized under the net, the owl really let me have it with its verbal
assault, most of which I’m positive I can’t repeat in any family publication. I
can’t speak owl, but I generally understood the meaning. This one surely
blistered my ears. Not only that, it tried to claw its way out through the bottom
deck of my boat, hissing, growling, cursing and hooting the entire time.
I fully expected to see a bunch of Hooty’s feathered friends coming to his
rescue. With one eye focused on flying objects, real or imagined, appearing in
the dark sky, I finally pulled the owl’s leg out from the net, delicately unhooked
it and flopped the owl back into the river. Apparently, owls can’t swim any
better than they can float. It eventually thrashed its way over to a low limb
where it climbed up, fluffed its feathers and gave me one final scowl that could
melt diamonds and started calling for reinforcements. I cranked the outboard
and raced for home as fast as I could before the feathered phalanx
counterattacked.
Pelicans aren’t any more sociable than owls when hooked and act just as
rude. Once, a friend and I fished off a dock. Pelicans waited near the dock to
scoop up the refuse as people cleaned their catches. Several pelicans couldn’
t wait until we cleaned the speckled trout and tried to grab our fish off our
lines. My friend hooked a big male by accident. I say he probably also hooked
the fish by accident, but that’s another story!
As my friend fought it, the pelican thrashed on the water. I tried to figure
out how to unhook it. With their long necks and magnum bills, pelicans can
grab things with surprising range and accuracy. I also discovered that
pelicans have a very sharp hook on the end of their bills, which snap like
turtles, and know how to use them.
I finally distracted the pelican long enough to clamp my hand around its
bill. That didn’t go over very well either with the long-nosed bird who
immediately threw a feathery temper tantrum. I didn’t realize how far they can
stretch their wings, how much power they can put into their flapping or how
sharp the claws on their giant webbed feet are either until that moment
Eventually, I unhooked the irate bird and released him to bother other people.
While trolling off the coast of Mexico once, John McKay and I sat in the
back of a boat holding our rods. Baited with fresh mullets, our rigs splashed
and hopped enticingly in the prop wash. Without much action for a while, we
lost focus on fishing and started talking about highly important topics like
football and food.
Suddenly, the rod nearly jerked from John’s hand. Instead of ripping out
behind the boat with a big fish attached, the line sizzled up over his head and
past my shoulder, nearly taking my hat off.
“What the ...” he exclaimed! “I’ve got something, but the line is going into
the air.”
An osprey dove on the bait and grabbed the mullet as it skipped across
the water. When it reached the end of the line, the bird came to a rather
abrupt stop and the fish fell back into the water.
The bird lined up for another attack and dove at the bait with incredible
velocity. John jerked the rod just as the fish was about to strike, forcing it to
miss the mullet and crash-land into the water with nothing to show for the
effort. It did that several times. Persistent, the bird kept coming back for more,
only harder each time.
Then, the bird grabbed my mullet, still hopping over the waves. As it
raced away with its apparent breakfast, I yanked the rod as hard as I could.
The mullet flew from the clutched talons of the surprised osprey and fell back
into the water.
By now, we had to return to port so we tossed both badly damaged
mullets into the sea. The unrelenting, yet frustrated bird finally, and
cautiously, grabbed one mullet floating on the surface and headed for a quiet,
private place to enjoy its well-earned lunch at last. So did we! Then, there was
the time the duck ate my fly …
but feathered creatures don’t like me.
I have nothing against birds, but they sometimes go out of their way to
annoy me. I’m not talking about the occasional shoulder splatter or the
“decorations” they place on a newly washed truck. Perhaps, that’s because I
haven’t had a newly washed truck in years.
No. Birds really go out of their way to interfere with my business, except
when I’m actually sitting in a duck blind or walking a dove or quail field and
want them to come closer. Birds simply don’t like me even when I’m not
shooting at them.
For instance, one twilight, I was fishing alone on a swampy river. I wanted
to make just a couple more casts with my old faithful Rapala Original Minnow
jerkbait. I worked the bait over the surface as realistically as I could on
ultralight spinning tackle loaded with 6-pound test monofilament.
Apparently, I worked the bait too realistically. With light fading fast, a
great horned owl, who obviously couldn’t see any better than I could in the
gathering gloom, swooped out of the swamp and snatched my lure from the
water. The bird provided the best “strike” all afternoon. Talk about your
ultimate “fly fishing experience!”
Unfortunately, the sharp treble hooks on the lure caught the owl in its
foot. For some reason, that really annoyed the raptor. I could only imagine its
surprise when it flew off with an apparent easy meal only to reach the end of
my fishing line!
Surprise soon switched to abject anger, you might call it rage, as the
embattled and entangled owl few circles over my boat. Not wanting to
condemn the bird to a painful life attached to a three-treble hook topwater bait
coupled with a desire to get my favorite lure back, I continued to fight the
feathered beast.
On the ultralight tackle, the owl gave me one of the most spirited, and
loudest, fights I’v ever experienced. I’m not so sure how good it might taste,
but in pure sporting qualities, the owl certainly beat many other catches I’ve
experienced.
Several times, the owl pulled drag from the reel. A couple times, I thought
it was going to “spool” me. I gained a few feet, only to lose them again. The
battle raged for what seemed like hours, but probably only lasted a few
minutes.
By this time, I couldn’t see much of what was happening above me. I
could keep track of the owl’s progress as it zoomed laps around my boat by
the tension on the line and the noise it made. Make that, the noise it
screamed. It hooted, hissed, growled, cursed and uttered every other irate
sound imaginable. I just can’t imagine why it was so angry with me. It was the
one who fell for the faux fish.
Finally, the owl began to weaken. I recovered enough line so that the
enraged owl materialized out of the darkness only about four feet from me at
eye level. That didn’t seem like a good position at the time, so I flicked the rod
hard and dipped the owl into the now ebony river. I soon discovered that owls
don’t float very well.
Then, I made a move almost as foolish as the owl swatting my bait. I
scooped it in the net and brought it into the boat. The hardest part was lipping
him and putting him in the livewell. No, just kidding about that.
Partially immobilized under the net, the owl really let me have it with its verbal
assault, most of which I’m positive I can’t repeat in any family publication. I
can’t speak owl, but I generally understood the meaning. This one surely
blistered my ears. Not only that, it tried to claw its way out through the bottom
deck of my boat, hissing, growling, cursing and hooting the entire time.
I fully expected to see a bunch of Hooty’s feathered friends coming to his
rescue. With one eye focused on flying objects, real or imagined, appearing in
the dark sky, I finally pulled the owl’s leg out from the net, delicately unhooked
it and flopped the owl back into the river. Apparently, owls can’t swim any
better than they can float. It eventually thrashed its way over to a low limb
where it climbed up, fluffed its feathers and gave me one final scowl that could
melt diamonds and started calling for reinforcements. I cranked the outboard
and raced for home as fast as I could before the feathered phalanx
counterattacked.
Pelicans aren’t any more sociable than owls when hooked and act just as
rude. Once, a friend and I fished off a dock. Pelicans waited near the dock to
scoop up the refuse as people cleaned their catches. Several pelicans couldn’
t wait until we cleaned the speckled trout and tried to grab our fish off our
lines. My friend hooked a big male by accident. I say he probably also hooked
the fish by accident, but that’s another story!
As my friend fought it, the pelican thrashed on the water. I tried to figure
out how to unhook it. With their long necks and magnum bills, pelicans can
grab things with surprising range and accuracy. I also discovered that
pelicans have a very sharp hook on the end of their bills, which snap like
turtles, and know how to use them.
I finally distracted the pelican long enough to clamp my hand around its
bill. That didn’t go over very well either with the long-nosed bird who
immediately threw a feathery temper tantrum. I didn’t realize how far they can
stretch their wings, how much power they can put into their flapping or how
sharp the claws on their giant webbed feet are either until that moment
Eventually, I unhooked the irate bird and released him to bother other people.
While trolling off the coast of Mexico once, John McKay and I sat in the
back of a boat holding our rods. Baited with fresh mullets, our rigs splashed
and hopped enticingly in the prop wash. Without much action for a while, we
lost focus on fishing and started talking about highly important topics like
football and food.
Suddenly, the rod nearly jerked from John’s hand. Instead of ripping out
behind the boat with a big fish attached, the line sizzled up over his head and
past my shoulder, nearly taking my hat off.
“What the ...” he exclaimed! “I’ve got something, but the line is going into
the air.”
An osprey dove on the bait and grabbed the mullet as it skipped across
the water. When it reached the end of the line, the bird came to a rather
abrupt stop and the fish fell back into the water.
The bird lined up for another attack and dove at the bait with incredible
velocity. John jerked the rod just as the fish was about to strike, forcing it to
miss the mullet and crash-land into the water with nothing to show for the
effort. It did that several times. Persistent, the bird kept coming back for more,
only harder each time.
Then, the bird grabbed my mullet, still hopping over the waves. As it
raced away with its apparent breakfast, I yanked the rod as hard as I could.
The mullet flew from the clutched talons of the surprised osprey and fell back
into the water.
By now, we had to return to port so we tossed both badly damaged
mullets into the sea. The unrelenting, yet frustrated bird finally, and
cautiously, grabbed one mullet floating on the surface and headed for a quiet,
private place to enjoy its well-earned lunch at last. So did we! Then, there was
the time the duck ate my fly …
The ultimate fly fishing experience,
taking on our feathered friends
taking on our feathered friends
With long necks and long hooked bills, pelicans can inflict a lot of
damage on an opponent when angered. They often lurk near docks to
snatch scraps offered by anglers cleaning fish and even sometimes try
to take hooked fish off the lines.
damage on an opponent when angered. They often lurk near docks to
snatch scraps offered by anglers cleaning fish and even sometimes try
to take hooked fish off the lines.
