Surf
Rod/Reel
GIVEAWAY
(Contest Over)
1st Prize : Tica Rod/Abu Garcia Ambassadeur
Combo
How to Enter..
(Limit 1 entry per person)
*In at least 200 words (1500 max), share your most memorable fishing moment
with us! Winning story will be shared on the site.
CONTEST OVER
Please check the main CONTEST section for more
contest.
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CONTEST RULES
1. This contest is sponsored by and brought to you by Extremecoast.com.
This contest begins at 12:00am PST of 1/16/2005 and will end at 12:00am PST
on 04/14/2005. There is a limit of one internet entry per person. All multiple
entries will be disqualified. Contest is Valid to all residents of US and
outlying islands. Entrants who reside outside of North America may be required
to be responsible for shipping charges. Winner will be selected by Extreme
Coast Editors.
2. The prize distribution is as follows..
(1) First Place winner will receive a Rod/Reel surfcasting combo(ARV est.
$150) Extremecoast.com reserves the right to vary the final prize item(s)
if needed.
3. Winner(s) will be selected by a panel of EC Editors on/before 12:00am
PST on 04/20/2005. Winner(s/ will be contacted through email and it is their
sole responsibility to respond by 04/24/2005. All prizes not claimed will
be forfeited to other contestants. By entering the contest you agree that
Extreme Coast and/or its sponsors are not liable for damaged or lost
mail and will take no responsibility in your actions with the given prizes.
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WINNING ESSAY
MOST MEMORABLE FISHING EXPIERENCE
by 'Big Lou'
Hmmmm ????
That covers a lot of time and territory. Forty seven years of dunking
bait from South Padre Island Jetties to the Sabine Jetties, has left numerous
vivid images forever etched into the corners of my mind.
Seeing 29 tarpon landed on Bob Hall Pier in one night; hooking
my first tarpon; landing several state records with no scales available;
winning shark tournaments; taking a writer fishing and having him catch an
unofficial state record; guiding a TV crew and catching 33 fish of twenty
pounds or more within three hours; guiding another TV crew shark fishing
and having their thirty minute show win best outdoor show of the year in
state of Texas; being caught offshore in a storm in TOO little of boat; sinking
a bout thirty three miles off Sabine Pass; making friends and acquaintances
along the way; even finding a dead body on SPI while fishing; all of these
memories pale in comparison to the story to follow.
In Oct. 1989, four hearty souls trekked to Mansfield Pas via
SPI. Many big sharks were hung and a couple nice surf rod size were
caught. From that initial trip an annual pilgrimage of fellow fishermen
trekked to the jetties each Oct. A few years have been missed due to weather,
tides, or family occurrences. Each year grown men's boyish enthusiasm grows
in proportion to their anticipation as Oct nears. These trips alone form
enough memories to fill a book.
By 1999 many friends have made the Mansfield Safari. Other than
a hardcore three, faces have changed, but all their hearts love the desolate,
coyote serenaded beach of Mansfield. August of 1999 saw hurricane Brett roar
across Padre Island about fifteen miles north of the pass. In his wake were
deep scars gouged through the island where gulf waters invaded Laguna Madre.
These cuts were slow to heal and left watery obstacles to hinder and stop
beach travel. Four such cuts were south of the Mansfield Jetties and as many
or more north.
Reports from all sources indicated the cuts were filling in
and travel would resume in the near future. Our trip south was still on!
Just had to hope, six weeks would be enough time to fill Padre's scars. Our
day of departure finds us caravanning four vehicles south with more to meet
us on the sand. Driving is easy and the miles just fade behind. Mid-afternoon
brings our worst fears to light. The first cut through South Padre hasn't
filled enough to let us pass. But, being die hards and won't give up without
a fight, we drive through the dunes, around behind and across some mud flats,
and then back through the dunes to the beach . (we weren't the first)
Next cut is impassable, not even around the backside. Oh Well!
Looks fishy, so camp is made. Saturday dawns with a lot of promise, but ends
so, so. A few fish for a later supper is boxed. Sunday's dawn bust open with
yellow, gold, and orange rays bathing our sleepy faces. Promises of line
stretching fish danced in our minds vision. Bill and I are at the waters
edge baiting our lines as a big ORANGE sun ball rises from gulf waters. BEAUTIFUL
! ! ! !
Bill's cast lands middle of wade gut (6 feet deep) and mine
is just over first bar. Bill hooks up in a matter of seconds and mine takes
all of a half minute. We stand side by side leaning back on bent rods, watching
line disappear. His cuts off and 20 minutes later I land a nice seventy five
pound blacktip. By time the tide changed, Bill and I both have lost four
good fish. There must have been a shell bar right in front of us.
The rest of the day is anti-climatic and everyone prepares for
Monday's dawn of ravenous big fish. Monday dawns with as much promise and
glory as Sunday. Little did we know what lay ahead. Day break finds the troops
lined up ready to do battle. Steve, Charles Ray, and Doc all want a little
of the action Bill and I enjoyed yesterday.
Sunday afternoon brought two more friends, David and his on
Keith. Morning finds them fishing the lagoon behind the bar that separates
open gulf waters from one of Brett's open scars through Padre. I get nailed
first, rod bends and clicker sings. Whatever has picked up my bait just gains
speed when it feels steel. Seventy five yards, I stop it! Or, maybe not?
I lean back and know this is a much larger beast then yesterday. I don't
think I actually stopped it, it just decided to head north. No matter how
much pressure I exert, it keeps on heading north.
Oh! No! Another cut line!
Doc has lost one during my short battle. I re-rig and cast back
out. A voice comes ringing across the wind and waves. HELP! HELP! GET THE
BOAT! David's head can be seen bobbing in the lagoon. His son is racing toward
him and the rest of us are soon in wide stride. Gulf waters washing over
the bar has formed a turbulent area which makes swimming very difficult.
Keith jumps in to help and neither of them can make any head way.
Steve and Charles Ray launch a bout and head for a rescue. David
is looking bad, Keith is definitely getting tired. Charles Ray gets a hold
of David's arm (he is totally limp) and Keith grabs the gunwale. Doc and
I meet them on shore to assist . We each grab an arm as we tow David to higher
ground.
Doc isn't a real doctor, he sets cast. But, he worked in a hospital
ER fifteen plus years. He has been involved in more emergencies than many
doctors ever encounter. David isn't breathing and there is no pulse! His
skin is starting to turn. Shades pass from pale to ashen to blue to purple
to GREY. An awful heart wrenching color. THERE IS NO LIFE EVIDENT!
Doc starts chest compressions and Steve begins to breathe for
David. In a short time Steve is winded and I take over the task of breathing.
Time is non-existent. We have no idea how long we work on David. Seconds
feel like minutes and minutes feel like hours. While this tragic scene unfolds,
Charles Ray is on his cell phone calling 911.
HURRY!
I notice David's color reverse previous changes, He is now very
pale. Still no vitals!! WHERE IS THAT DAMN CHOPPER? Doc and I continue CPR
(which is nothing like the class). David's color remains good but still nothing
else. How am I going to tell his wife??? David isn't coming home ! ! !
OH! David's hand moved! Doc finds a pulse! Still no breath.
I continue with the breathing and every few breaths we check to see if he
is responsive. Still has a pulse, stronger,,,,,,,no breathing.
Finally a faint gasp! Yes, he tried to breath!
Only a few more assisted breathes and David is coughing. Thank
God! It isn't long till David is standing and asking for a drink of water.
He sits down with a bottle and the WHOP! WHOP! WHOP! of a chopper can be
heard coming from the south.
David is hardheaded to say the least. Through ten minutes of
coaxing we finally have him flying to a hospital. Our rescue chopper was
miss directed by dispatch. Instead of seven miles south of Mansfield jetties
(our location) they were sent seven miles south of SPI jetties!!! Thirty
miles difference, an untold time delay.
Needless to say---------our fishing trip was over. We pack up and headed
home.
David had a few problems but now six years later he is doing fine. I might
add----he was seventy years old when this took place.
- Big Lou
Congrats Lou on a wonderful story and thanks for sharing!
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