Big Ed
10-06-2011, 10:28 AM
This is a fun report not intended to criticize anybody. Just a fun read!
It was the Gathering of the Minds at DVL last Saturday morning. As we're launching Big Ed's rig, we see our friend Art getting ready to leave the marina so I help him tie down on the dock. I then see Albert yelling at Jerry and the Caveman, who were jumping onto a rental. Two of Big Ed's friends were also on the water at the time, and we even heard Husker Rod got into the fray as well. It was like the Social Network out there.
The fish? Not many were being social, at least not for the crew of the 3 Mejicanos: Heckle, Jekle & Meko. By noon, we were outta there, eating lunch in Hemet at Steves Burgers, before our second mission to go fish Skinner in the afternoon.
We called the Caveman to see how they had done; 2 small fish for the both of them, with Jerry getting the ole skunk, which rarely happens for that guy, especially at DVL. Art had also found tougher conditions than the day before, and had run into HuskerRod who was also finding a tough bite. Ed's friends? Same thing.*
Perhaps we should've concentrated fishing deeper than what we had. We figured with water temps dropping, and the fact we had caught them shallower for 3 weeks straight, meant the fish would continue to be there. I guess we thought wrong.
Total counts? Ed had a pair, Albert had a pair, and I apparently had no pair and just went along for the ride. I had a better chance of catching fish from the freshwater tank at BassProShops in Cucamonga. I DID get butt raped by something that ate my jig shallow and dove straight for the bushes and broke me off. 2nd time in a row that's happened. Maybe 3rd time's a charm.
Part 2: Skinner
With our tails between our legs, and cheeseburgers in our stomachs, we humbly made our way to Skinner and launched around 1:00 pm. There are a billion bait fish inside the marina area, more on this later.
Armed with intelligence from an email I got from A very good friend of the fishing community that read like a Step By Step Guide to Open Heart Surgery, we tried to pick apart Skinner end to end. We got a few fish here, a few fish there, and even got a few bluegill to go too. By 3:00 pm, our frustration had grown, and we decided to motor back to the marina area to see if the baitfish would be attracting other predators in the area.
And this is where the fun began...
We moved into the marina, outside the white buoys, slowly using the trolling motor to drift in. Big Ed makes a cast towards a small point inside the marina, when we see Barney Fife drive his patrol truck that was parked under the shade in the parking lots, towards the launch ramp.*
He sits on the launch ramp as Ed inches closer to the buoy, almost waiting for Ed to cast again.
He then gets out, waving his hands like his hair was on fire, and yells that "THERE IS NO FISHING IN THE MARINA!"
All 3 of us turn around, and see that the white buoys that we had just crossed had "NO FISHING" written on the OPPOSITE side of them. In other words, the words were only visible for people leaving the marina, not coming in. We all actually assumed they were the no "NO WAKE" buoys that are common in all marinas.
We realize our mistake, Big Ed pulls up his dropshot rig, and we start trolling motor'ing our way out of the Marina. Suddenly, we hear from the loud speaker of the truck, "I TOLD YOU THERE'S NO FISHING IN THE MARINA, CAN'T YOU GUYS READ?!"
We turn around, honestly wondering if the dipsh!t is still speaking to us, and since we're the only boat in the area, we assume he's still talking to us. Apparently he doesn't realize that boats do not have brakes, and the momentum had us swinging deeper into the marina until the trolling motor began to push us out.
We decide not to go East LA on his ***, so Ed responds with a cordial, "WE HEARD YOU THE FIRST TIME!, you d!ck". The "you d!ck was obviously whispered under his breath.
We make our way outside the "No Fishing" buoy, which puts us into the clear, and while I'm grabbing a rod, ready to hit up the area with a spinnerblade, I hear Albert say, "Uh...dude got out of his truck and is walking down to the dock. Looks like he means business."
Sure enough, Barney Fife is walking down the ramp, and gets into his patrol boat, turns it on, and guns it towards our location, full on blue lights and siren, fulfilling a life long dream of his as a kid or something. I'm sure he got turned on during the incident.
I pay the dude no mind. I kept on casting my spinnerblade as he yelled at the boat, "When I tell you that there is no fishing in the marina, you need to follow MY orders. I need to see your licenses and your lake permits."
We're standing there scratching our collective heads wondering what possessed this moron to leave the comfort of his truck, shade and probably his nap, to come harass us for our licenses and 'lake permits' which we didn't have a clue what those were, and I soon realized were sitting on the dash board of Ed's truck.
As we're looking for our licences, Big Ed interjects with, "You didn't have to come down to harass us because you thought we weren't following your instructions. We left the area as soon as you told us to, and this is our first time at the lake and didn't read the buoys on the way out that said No Fishing. We left the area, didn't we?"
Of course, that flusters the guy, and he decides to pull something out of his *** and says, "Well, you continued to fish even after I told you not to."
Which of course was complete bullsh!t as we all saw Ed pull up his rig and start making his way out of the area on the trolling motor, Oxblood Robo hanging rom the tip of his rod, the moment we heard his instructions. I guess you can just make things up once you are a certified "lake patrol man."
"I need to see your licenses, and lake permits," he says again, in the same condescending tone of voice.
At this point, I'm still casting and slow rolling my spinnerblade after having made a few casts towards a point, all while Ed is having this conversation with Barney. And of course, a 2.5# bass chooses the perfect time to get behind it, and wacks the ***** out of the blade, and my rod goes bendo in front of Mr. I-Got-Beat-Up-In-School-So-Now-I-Harass-People-Because-I-Couldn't-Spell-My-Name-Right-On-My-SATs.*
I am enjoying the fight being put up by the fish, while Ed converses with Gomer, who keeps repeating, "I need your licences, and your lake permits." I'm giggling like a school girl as I fight the fish, and finally bring it up, and lip it, and before I can even get my blade out of its mouth, Mr. Fife yells at me, pointing and saying,
"THAT FISH IS TOO SMALL!!!!"
WTF?*
Luckily, before I can retort with, "And so is your d!ck but you don't see me complaining," Albert kindly replies,
"Well all righty then!"
"We Catch and Release, sir," we both mutter, which probably surprised the guy as he had probably already made the assumption we're going to bust out some tortillas, crack open a Tecate, and some Tapatío hot sauce, start playing some mariachi music while we make some ceviche from the bass and watch Las Chivas play soccer, all the while we collect our welfare checks and food stamps, and our anchor baby children tag up the side of a porta potty on shore, and go to college using tax payer money.
I toss the fish back in the water, and continue to dig for our licenses, which we finally find and show him.*
"I need to see your lake permits."
"What lake permits?"
"The one you SHOULD'VE received when you paid in the front."
"They must be in the car then.
"I need to see your lake permits."
"So you want me to motor back into the dock to get them from my dashboard?"
"I need to see your lake permits....They're green, and they're $4 a piece, and you have to have them on your person when you're fishing MY lake."
"Hey Albert, he's asking for your green card, you wet back," I whisper.
So, there was a moment of silence as we have a stare down and he sizes us up, and then he begins asking us,
"Anyway, how much did you pay when you came in?"
"20something dollars, sir, I dunno."
And the dude actually starts doing the math in his head, as if Albert and I had hidden inside the Champion's livewell to save $8 on "lake permits."*
What a FRICKEN TOOL.
After Einstein realizes that we probably didn't hide in the livewell, he tells us that, "NEXT TIME you're on MY lake, have those green passes on your possession or else you will get a ticket."
Now I feel how the brown people in Alabama feel like.
*RIM SHOT*
He putters away, all the while calling in Ed's CF numbers to the entrance booth.
Not only does this guy think WE sneaked in, he actually thought we sneaked in Ed's boat with us. HOW AWESOME IS THAT?! I know Albert's *** is huge and you can hide practically anything in there, but cmon!
Or, the other scenario is Phantom and I pulling up a fence in the middle of a dirt road in Temecula, Ed driving his huge GMC and 21 foot Champion underneath it, and us off roading it to the launch ramp, so we can avoid the entrance fee.*
Considering Ed's boat is worth more than the douche bag's yearly salary, the possibilities we 'sneaked in' are pretty minute. But I'm glad he thought otherwise. Dumb ***** probably thought we STOLE the boat.
15 minutes later after the incident, Ed got a very nice fish to go with the ole dropshot. We called it a day soon after.*
It was a tougher bite at Skinner, but I did get a keeper to go, that I couldn't get a photo of because of Barney Fife's insisting the "fish was too small" and me hurriedly throwing it back.*
I could've caught zero fish today,as the time spent with these 2 homos is priceless. The laughter throughout the day would've made it seem we slayed them, even though we didn't, Plus, I backed down the trailer twice today without jack knifing it. I'll have to be able to get that down to a science once tournament season comes around.
The end!
It was the Gathering of the Minds at DVL last Saturday morning. As we're launching Big Ed's rig, we see our friend Art getting ready to leave the marina so I help him tie down on the dock. I then see Albert yelling at Jerry and the Caveman, who were jumping onto a rental. Two of Big Ed's friends were also on the water at the time, and we even heard Husker Rod got into the fray as well. It was like the Social Network out there.
The fish? Not many were being social, at least not for the crew of the 3 Mejicanos: Heckle, Jekle & Meko. By noon, we were outta there, eating lunch in Hemet at Steves Burgers, before our second mission to go fish Skinner in the afternoon.
We called the Caveman to see how they had done; 2 small fish for the both of them, with Jerry getting the ole skunk, which rarely happens for that guy, especially at DVL. Art had also found tougher conditions than the day before, and had run into HuskerRod who was also finding a tough bite. Ed's friends? Same thing.*
Perhaps we should've concentrated fishing deeper than what we had. We figured with water temps dropping, and the fact we had caught them shallower for 3 weeks straight, meant the fish would continue to be there. I guess we thought wrong.
Total counts? Ed had a pair, Albert had a pair, and I apparently had no pair and just went along for the ride. I had a better chance of catching fish from the freshwater tank at BassProShops in Cucamonga. I DID get butt raped by something that ate my jig shallow and dove straight for the bushes and broke me off. 2nd time in a row that's happened. Maybe 3rd time's a charm.
Part 2: Skinner
With our tails between our legs, and cheeseburgers in our stomachs, we humbly made our way to Skinner and launched around 1:00 pm. There are a billion bait fish inside the marina area, more on this later.
Armed with intelligence from an email I got from A very good friend of the fishing community that read like a Step By Step Guide to Open Heart Surgery, we tried to pick apart Skinner end to end. We got a few fish here, a few fish there, and even got a few bluegill to go too. By 3:00 pm, our frustration had grown, and we decided to motor back to the marina area to see if the baitfish would be attracting other predators in the area.
And this is where the fun began...
We moved into the marina, outside the white buoys, slowly using the trolling motor to drift in. Big Ed makes a cast towards a small point inside the marina, when we see Barney Fife drive his patrol truck that was parked under the shade in the parking lots, towards the launch ramp.*
He sits on the launch ramp as Ed inches closer to the buoy, almost waiting for Ed to cast again.
He then gets out, waving his hands like his hair was on fire, and yells that "THERE IS NO FISHING IN THE MARINA!"
All 3 of us turn around, and see that the white buoys that we had just crossed had "NO FISHING" written on the OPPOSITE side of them. In other words, the words were only visible for people leaving the marina, not coming in. We all actually assumed they were the no "NO WAKE" buoys that are common in all marinas.
We realize our mistake, Big Ed pulls up his dropshot rig, and we start trolling motor'ing our way out of the Marina. Suddenly, we hear from the loud speaker of the truck, "I TOLD YOU THERE'S NO FISHING IN THE MARINA, CAN'T YOU GUYS READ?!"
We turn around, honestly wondering if the dipsh!t is still speaking to us, and since we're the only boat in the area, we assume he's still talking to us. Apparently he doesn't realize that boats do not have brakes, and the momentum had us swinging deeper into the marina until the trolling motor began to push us out.
We decide not to go East LA on his ***, so Ed responds with a cordial, "WE HEARD YOU THE FIRST TIME!, you d!ck". The "you d!ck was obviously whispered under his breath.
We make our way outside the "No Fishing" buoy, which puts us into the clear, and while I'm grabbing a rod, ready to hit up the area with a spinnerblade, I hear Albert say, "Uh...dude got out of his truck and is walking down to the dock. Looks like he means business."
Sure enough, Barney Fife is walking down the ramp, and gets into his patrol boat, turns it on, and guns it towards our location, full on blue lights and siren, fulfilling a life long dream of his as a kid or something. I'm sure he got turned on during the incident.
I pay the dude no mind. I kept on casting my spinnerblade as he yelled at the boat, "When I tell you that there is no fishing in the marina, you need to follow MY orders. I need to see your licenses and your lake permits."
We're standing there scratching our collective heads wondering what possessed this moron to leave the comfort of his truck, shade and probably his nap, to come harass us for our licenses and 'lake permits' which we didn't have a clue what those were, and I soon realized were sitting on the dash board of Ed's truck.
As we're looking for our licences, Big Ed interjects with, "You didn't have to come down to harass us because you thought we weren't following your instructions. We left the area as soon as you told us to, and this is our first time at the lake and didn't read the buoys on the way out that said No Fishing. We left the area, didn't we?"
Of course, that flusters the guy, and he decides to pull something out of his *** and says, "Well, you continued to fish even after I told you not to."
Which of course was complete bullsh!t as we all saw Ed pull up his rig and start making his way out of the area on the trolling motor, Oxblood Robo hanging rom the tip of his rod, the moment we heard his instructions. I guess you can just make things up once you are a certified "lake patrol man."
"I need to see your licenses, and lake permits," he says again, in the same condescending tone of voice.
At this point, I'm still casting and slow rolling my spinnerblade after having made a few casts towards a point, all while Ed is having this conversation with Barney. And of course, a 2.5# bass chooses the perfect time to get behind it, and wacks the ***** out of the blade, and my rod goes bendo in front of Mr. I-Got-Beat-Up-In-School-So-Now-I-Harass-People-Because-I-Couldn't-Spell-My-Name-Right-On-My-SATs.*
I am enjoying the fight being put up by the fish, while Ed converses with Gomer, who keeps repeating, "I need your licences, and your lake permits." I'm giggling like a school girl as I fight the fish, and finally bring it up, and lip it, and before I can even get my blade out of its mouth, Mr. Fife yells at me, pointing and saying,
"THAT FISH IS TOO SMALL!!!!"
WTF?*
Luckily, before I can retort with, "And so is your d!ck but you don't see me complaining," Albert kindly replies,
"Well all righty then!"
"We Catch and Release, sir," we both mutter, which probably surprised the guy as he had probably already made the assumption we're going to bust out some tortillas, crack open a Tecate, and some Tapatío hot sauce, start playing some mariachi music while we make some ceviche from the bass and watch Las Chivas play soccer, all the while we collect our welfare checks and food stamps, and our anchor baby children tag up the side of a porta potty on shore, and go to college using tax payer money.
I toss the fish back in the water, and continue to dig for our licenses, which we finally find and show him.*
"I need to see your lake permits."
"What lake permits?"
"The one you SHOULD'VE received when you paid in the front."
"They must be in the car then.
"I need to see your lake permits."
"So you want me to motor back into the dock to get them from my dashboard?"
"I need to see your lake permits....They're green, and they're $4 a piece, and you have to have them on your person when you're fishing MY lake."
"Hey Albert, he's asking for your green card, you wet back," I whisper.
So, there was a moment of silence as we have a stare down and he sizes us up, and then he begins asking us,
"Anyway, how much did you pay when you came in?"
"20something dollars, sir, I dunno."
And the dude actually starts doing the math in his head, as if Albert and I had hidden inside the Champion's livewell to save $8 on "lake permits."*
What a FRICKEN TOOL.
After Einstein realizes that we probably didn't hide in the livewell, he tells us that, "NEXT TIME you're on MY lake, have those green passes on your possession or else you will get a ticket."
Now I feel how the brown people in Alabama feel like.
*RIM SHOT*
He putters away, all the while calling in Ed's CF numbers to the entrance booth.
Not only does this guy think WE sneaked in, he actually thought we sneaked in Ed's boat with us. HOW AWESOME IS THAT?! I know Albert's *** is huge and you can hide practically anything in there, but cmon!
Or, the other scenario is Phantom and I pulling up a fence in the middle of a dirt road in Temecula, Ed driving his huge GMC and 21 foot Champion underneath it, and us off roading it to the launch ramp, so we can avoid the entrance fee.*
Considering Ed's boat is worth more than the douche bag's yearly salary, the possibilities we 'sneaked in' are pretty minute. But I'm glad he thought otherwise. Dumb ***** probably thought we STOLE the boat.
15 minutes later after the incident, Ed got a very nice fish to go with the ole dropshot. We called it a day soon after.*
It was a tougher bite at Skinner, but I did get a keeper to go, that I couldn't get a photo of because of Barney Fife's insisting the "fish was too small" and me hurriedly throwing it back.*
I could've caught zero fish today,as the time spent with these 2 homos is priceless. The laughter throughout the day would've made it seem we slayed them, even though we didn't, Plus, I backed down the trailer twice today without jack knifing it. I'll have to be able to get that down to a science once tournament season comes around.
The end!