OK.
Here's a story I may have already shared, but...
When I was married to my second wife, living in Kansas,
I did quite a bit of river catfishin'.
Kinda like, every night.
Anyway, the wife had a wild thought that I was havin' some affair.
She was right...
A fishin' affair!
So one night she says that she's coming with me.
OK.
I tell her to choose clothes that she'd rather throw away than wash.
And be sure to pack any bug spray you think you might need....
So, as the sun was setting in the west, we drove to a secret spot on the Wakarusa river.
Following the tractor path on the edge of a corn field, we eventually stopped and began our inventory of gear.
Flashlight? Check.
Hooks and sinkers? Check.
"Seasoned" chicken livers, frogs and worms for bait? Check.
We work our way through the jungle underbrush, me ahead, and soon I am at the muddy riverbank.
I listen and look for wifey, but see nor hear anything.
I've got both rods cast...one to a brushpile on the opposite bank and another next to a swift channel.
All of a sudden, the line at the brushpile starts to go upstream!
Then...
CRASH!
Right beside me, the wifey falls on her backside and slides in the mud into the river!
I said, "Quiet, Dammit! I gotta bite!"
She made her way out of the water, went back to the truck and never wanted to go fishing with me again.
Always,
Scott
