Here is a story I wrote a while back......
Once again, Pop, cousin Bob, and I were strung out on the 2ond bar, somewhere between Pass Cavallo, and the the big jetties. We were all about 50 yds apart, and catching keeper trout on just about every cast. The water was very clear, but the wind had come up, and big ole swells were rolling in and breaking on the 2ond bar. You really had to watch them and turn sideways to keep them from knocking you down.
I was playing a trout, and looked down the bar and saw pop landing one. But just as he grabbed it, a wave broke in front of him, driving the trout, lure and hand right into his crotch. I noticed it was taking him a long time to string it.
Then I heard pop, could barely hear him over the surf breaking, "Help me, hep me!" Pop didn't fish with his teeth in, and his "Help, came out more like Hep!" LOL
So I started wading toward him, while still casting. Kind of hard wading with the crashing waves, and along the way, I hooked and landed two more trout...took a little more time on my wade towards him to land and string them, than he thought it should.
When I got there, Pop was saying some pretty bad words, and even HE was questioning if I had a known daddy, while the shoulder high waves knocked him around, while he was clutching his crotch. He evidently didn't particularly like the time I took to get to him.
He even said more bad words, when I laughed at his situation! He had grabbed the trout, just as the wave broke, driving the trout, mirrorlure, and hand into his crotch, and there he stood, with one set of trebles in the trout, one set in his thumb, and one set firmly attached to his jeans, with waves knocking him around. I told him "You don't have to yell anymore", I was right there next to him!
Again he questioned my ancestory, even tho he knew better. I told him "This is a mighty sorry time to be badmouthing your only rescuer in sight!" LOL He didn't like that either.
So, I managed to get his trout off the hook, and strung it...and then whipped out my knife and cut his jeans a little to free the barb, and pop gave out a big sigh of relief.
We waded back up on the beach, where I showed him my Boy Scout First Aid Merit Badge card, and cut his thumb a little to free his hand. He immediately dropped his drawers, right there on the beach, and started a pretty through inspection, of the "rest of his body".
The bad news was that the hook had "scratched" his important parts pretty good, the good news was that it never went past the barb.
From then on, whenever pop would ask for help, hefting a loaded igloo, or to carry something...Cousin Bob and I would both yell out "HEP me, hep me!" Pop would scrowl, and mutter to himself, or completely ignore us!! LOL
PS...every story I have told is true. If you fish saltwater long enough...just some strange and interesting things are seen and happen!
Later
R3F