Hooking The Big-Un
Whilst buying the tackle to make a few hair rigs for a coming weekends fishing, I choose to purchase some of those rather mean and nasty looking size 4’s. You know the ones, extra strong square steel shanks, laser etched barbed point and to top it off a turned in eye to aid a better hook penetration. Well anyway, there I was sitting at home making a few rigs when I needed to pull tight a knot in the braided hook length and me being me choose to throw caution to the wind. There I was with the swivel in one hand and the hook firmly pinched between the thumb and forefinger of the other. I applied pressure to the hook length, each hand pulling slowly in the oppersite direction. I watched the knot draw tight as the coils of the blood knot drew tighter around each other.
Then it happened, the inevitable I suppose.
The hand holding the hook slipped and the ever so sharp, laser cut, square shanked, hardened steel nasty size 4 with the turned in eye to aid penetration bite me. Right through my thumbnail. There I was with this hook going clean through the underside of my thumb and coming out through the rather sensitive nail. To say it was smarting a little is an understatement I can tell you, it was down right bloody painful.
All I could do was ask my partner at the time if she had any side cutters? Nope came the answer so I had no choice but to ring my father, who’s an electrician, if I could pop round and borrow a pair. This was of course not a problem apart from the 15minite drive to my parent’s home. A 15-minute drive with my only passenger being this bloody hook stuck in my thumb.
When I got there I was duly asked why I needed to borrow a pair of side cutters? Where by I simple thrust out my now rather swollen and throbbing appendage in the direction of my rather stunned father.
‘ This calls for a whiskey’ he said reaching into his drinks cabinet and producing two small tumblers and a bottle of Chivers Regal, somewhat of a fine whiskey so I'm lead to believe. I'm not a whiskey drinker, believing the taste to be like that of a mix of petrol and paint stripper but on the count of three we both necked the tumblers contents in one.
‘BLOODY HELL’ I screamed ‘ WHAT ARE YOU TRYING TO DO TO ME?’ I hissed through pursed lips
‘ Shut up you wimp’ my father replied ‘I haven’t even got hold of the hook yet’
‘JESUS MAN, IM NOT ON ABOUT THE HOOK, THE WHISKEY’ I retorted as it burnt its way down settling in the pit of my stomach.
‘ Now listen son, if you keep messing about I'm never going to be able to cut it off’
Bloody hell I thought, he’s gone mad and is going to cut off my thumb. This had beads of sweat running down my forehead, or was it the whiskey?
‘ Sod it Dad, pour me another one’ I was throwing caution to the wind. Taste of petrol or not I wanted another whiskey. For medicinal purposes you understand?
‘ Ready? On the count of three’ he said with a glint in his eye
‘ONE’ oh bugger this is going to hurt
‘TWO’ oh please be gentle
‘THR…….’
‘NOOOOOOOOOOOOO… WAIT’ shouts I, only delaying the inevitable pain
So there I am, whiskey in one hand, hook in the other. Falling around laughing is my Father, whiskey in one hand, side cutters in the other. Trying to hide his hysteria behind a childish smirk he simply grabs my hand in his. Looking me square in the eyes he calmly says ‘Look son, drink your whiskey down now, stop being a prat and it will all be over’
I was shocked.
‘ Ok son? On the count of three?’
‘NOT AGAIN PLEASE.’ Stammers I
‘One’
‘NO DAD PLEASE DON’T IM NOT READY’ I'm almost wetting my pants with fear at this point.
‘Two’ this has me swigging hard on the tumbler of whiskey as I expect the pain on the count of three.
‘ARRRRGGGGGHHHHHHH……… YOU GIT, YOU DIDN’T EVEN COUNT TO THREE’ I shout at my Father who is now pulling for all his worth on the fully barbed hook.
‘GET OFF ME’ I shout
‘IT’S A BARBED HOOK, YOURE SUPPOSED TO CUT THE HOOK IN HALF NOT TRY TO FEED IT BACK THROUGH’
I love my Farther to bits but at that moment in time I wanted to knock him clean out where he stood grinning at me.
‘GIVE ME THE CUTTERS YOU IDIOT’ my rage still such I was forgetting to show him proper respect, I forgot to shout please at the end of my sentence.
Id had enough of this by now, my thumb throbbing, my Father now useless through laughter and the whiskey making me want to be sick. So I gritted my teeth and smiled at him as I snipped the hook in two. Then I pulled the remaining part out through my thumb.
‘THERE, THAT’S HOW YOU DO IT’ I shouted through bravado.
Only to feel my legs turn to jelly as I callasped in a heap in my parents dinning room.
So be warned, hooks sometimes bite back.
Anon