Over the years I have spent a lot of time on the water and I have seen a lot of things. I once came across a manatee that tried to mate with my canoe. I have had 80 pound tarpon roll within a paddle length from the boat. The computer I am writing this with was found in a canal near one of my favorite fishing holes. And then there is the tackle. Every mangrove is a magnet for fruitful treasures for those willing to brave the branches, bugs, and beans. Taking in everything I have seen over the years I have come to the conclusion there is some kind of fish god.

On a recent trip my girlfriend and I went out in the canoe looking to tighten a couple of lines after work. As we poled closer to a small mangrove island, we could see a large wake as baitfish scurried in every direction. I positioned the canoe so that we could get a good cast on the oyster bar. Suddenly there was a huge splash. My heart started thumping and I watched, waited, and put a cast to a beast of a redfish – just in time for my lack of depth perception to throw me off. The top water popper flew over a 10 foot tall mangrove and stuck somewhere on the backside of the mangrove island.

I opened the bail on my reel and began to pole the canoe around to the back of the island. As we got closer to the trees, I no longer needed to pole the boat because the swarm of no-seeums had started pulling us deeper into their domain. I think the Deet 100 was actually attracting these blood thirsty, invisible critters.

I began to ask myself if I really wanted this lure back. After all, it didn’t cost me anything. The manufacturer gave it to me and I had 3 more just like it in my tackle bag. But with the way that I am, I don’t like to leave any hooks or line in the trees if I can help it. Not to mention I didn’t want the Fish god to beat me out of any more tackle.

I found the branch the lure was hooked on and it was just out of reach. The canoe was floating in six inches of water but I could not get the boat to swing any closer. There was a small mangrove bush holding the boat at bay. I stretched as far as I could but could not get a hold on the branch that the hooks were dug into. With a little help from my trusty push pole, I was able to get a hand on the leader and able to pull the branch within reach. I let the push pole float behind the boat and left one end on the side of the canoe while I used a pair of clippers to free my popper. No sooner that I get my lure unhooked, I dropped the clippers into the drink. Six inches of murky, muddy, oyster filled water.

This Fish god is really starting to tick me off at this point. First he tries to take my free lure, sends me into the no-seeum torture palace, and now he wants my 99-cent clippers?

“You can’t have them!” I shouted out loud.

I smacked a few more no-seeums. I picked up half of the kayak paddle and tried to scrape the clippers along the bottom so I could reach them. After one swipe of the paddle, I had to wait for the mud to settle so I could see where the clippers were. I couldn’t tell if it was the mud cloud or the no-seeums under my eyelids caused me not to see the clippers. I couldn’t take it any longer! I had to get those clippers and get out of the bug zone. I reached carefully into the mud and oysters, feeling for the metallic cutters. Finally! I had them and was ready to get out. I pushed off of the tree limb and heard a splash. I was quickly reminded of the push pole hanging off the other side of the canoe.

I picked up the pole that was now floating alone the canoe and began pushing towards open water. It was almost like some kind of mystical curtain had fallen between the bugs and us, as we got farther away from the trees.

I tied the top water back on and saw yet another red busting some bait on the oyster bar. I quickly tossed the bait to where I last saw the wakes. Suddenly there was a crash. Not the kind of crash I was hoping for. I looked over my shoulder to see one of our famous afternoon thunderstorms breathing down my neck.

I quickly reeled in the line, dropped the trolling motor into the water and turned it on high. We got back to the car and packed the gear away before loading the canoe onto the top. Then I heard the words that sent a chill over me.

“Honey, where is the other half of your kayak paddle?”

So, I beat the Fish god from taking my free lure. I beat the Fish god out of taking my $1.00 set of clippers. I braved the trees, the bugs, and the oysters. I even managed not to get zapped by the passing lightening storm. But still… still this Fish god beats me out of half of a $130 kayak paddle. After all I have given back…

The day before all of this I was out fishing and boated several nice trout in the 20-inch range. The day before that was the same. All trout and all were around 20 inches- all released. I paid my dues. I gave at the office. I said my Fish god prayers.

The next day I wanted to go to the same area. I just had to know…

I motored up to the same mangrove island where I was stuck, dunked, and bitten. To my disbelief there was my paddle nestled in the branches of the same mini mangrove that made retrieving the lure so difficult.

That just goes to show you that you better pay homage to the Fish god. Practice catch and release, limit your catch and not catch your limit, and always (above all else) appreciate the habitat we still have available. Also remember, “The Fish god giveth and he’ll taketh away”.