Invigorated by the previous day’s fishing experience, and completely over the whole geyser thing, by the time that we got back to camp, the kids were extremely keen to try out their own rods and lures in the lake that our camp site backed onto.
Everyone seemed to split off and go their own way for a few moments. We were starting the fire ready to cook our dinner (there is nothing better than damn good steaks over an open fire) Caroline wanted to get the kayak out on the lake, keen to try a spot of fishing and the boys were all off to the lake edge with their rods.
So it was that I found myself alone at the camp, watching the fire, beer in hand and a few moments peace.
That in itself is of course a recipe for something to happen. Because you can’t have four kids and expect a quiet beer around the campfire early in the evening. It just doesn’t work. Thus, as I sat contemplating life’s grand puzzles, like how empty was my beer and should I bother moving my arse to get another just yet, the sound of kids casting lines into the lake and retrieving them almost entirely dismissed from my consciousness, the peace was broken by the sound of Caroline calling me from the kayak. As may can tell from the photos, I didn’t exactly have vision of what was going on either out in the lake or along the shoreline, which dropped about 2-3 metres from the level of where we camped.
Now admittedly, the first thought wasn’t all that complimentary, but the call was persistent enough that I knew that I was going to have to do something other than just screech “What?” back across the lake. The fact that Caroline’s voice was soon added to by a stranger saying something along the lines of “Is Sam’s Dad there?” had me moving a little more quickly.
The fact that the next thing I heard was “Sam’s got a fish hook through his lip!” had me all but sprinting through the brush, leaping felled trees like a frenzied deer (admittedly it was probably more like a deer that’s been half eaten by a wolf and that is getting on in years) as I navigated the tangled shore of the lake.
I made it to where Sam was and sure enough, there he was, a stranger holding his rod for him and on the end of the line … himself with a hook piercing his lip.
He was luck on 2 counts. Firstly, because we were in Yellowstone, the hook was barbless. Secondly, the hook had only gone through the fleshy part of the lip rather than through the entire front of his face so to speak. That of course did very little to lessen his distress. I tried to work the hook out, but barbless doesn’t mean you just slip off the hook with no effort (unless you’re a trout apparently) as there’s a slight flaring below the tip that was just enough to keep Sam on it without me giving it a really hard pull (and he wasn’t up to that to be sure!).
So with more people descending on us to find out what’s going on (after all, ‘Sam’s got a hook through his mouth’ tends to draw attention) I sent Thomas off for the pliers.
As we waited, I kept the tension off the line and tried to cheer him up as best as I could, I told him that we’d get him some ice for it, that it was unlikely to need an stitches or serious medical attention and askiedif he still though the geysers were boring, or whether he’d rather be caught on a fish hook.
Without batting an eyelid (hew as trying to keep still after all) he looked at me and said, “The fish hook is more fun.” Little bugger! The pliers duly arrived and with a quick clip, the flared tip was removed and Sam slipped off like the elusive ‘one that got away’.
No blood and so nice ice was required and Sam was off being his usual self within minutes. Even when I quipped that I might have to start calling him trout he smiled and in fact, I think he’s secretly pleased with the new nickname!
No photos with this one ... for some reason i didn't think to stop and take any!
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