So I'm fishing with my dad on the Cowlitz. We're free drifting along peacefully and my dad gets a feely good... possible fish on the end. He lowers his rod tip a little and gets ready to set the hook. (Now my dad when he sets the hook does so with a vengence). I hear this WHOOOSH as the rod rises up in a blurr, with no fish on one end and freezing hands on the other, the rod sails through the air and lands a good 30' behind us in the water. The first thought I have is "OH KRAP, I built that rod and you go and throw it in the water". But somehow the line got wrapped around his head. I here this chorus of laughter next to us as the boat drifting behind us sees the whole thing unfold. He starts yarding the line in hand over fist. He then says to me "I was still on freespool, I hope the knot at the end of the spool holds". I bust out laughing as I'm watching him with line wrapped around his head, a hundred or so yards wrapped around his ankles and line going out both ends of the boat. He got to the end of the spool and luckily the knot did hold. He pulled up his best catch of the day to a standing ovation by the other boat. Man was his face red.

Somehow I need to harness the energy of him setting the hook. He has a trigger grip on this rod and somehow he still managed to pitch it overboard.

(Sorry 'bout this Dad, I thought the whole world should hear)

anybody else have good stories about dads or kids??

Sounds like your dad and I have a similar problem. I periodically like to toss my rod over the side as well.
A few years back I was sturgeon fishing with a buddy of mine on the columbia below bonneville when I started getting bit. I slowly got the rod out of the rod holder and fed the fish, just about to set when it gave up. I leaned back in my seat and started to relax a little when "WHAM", strong bite with my steelhead reflex in full gear and my grip nearly nonexistant.
Out and down go the rod and I'm looking at that murky river thinking about the $300 I just tossed over the side.
My buddy starts chuckling and I grab his fishing rod and bounce it slowly back to the boat and catch my line and get my rod back.
Life is good again.

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I can hang on to my fishing pole, but other problems do crop up. This must have been in about '95 or '97, the last really big run of pinks on the Skagit. Me and my two fishing buddies were fishing off this bunch of old dead trees about the size of telephone poles, all jamed together at wierd angles. I was up on a good perch about 8'10 feet above the river and hooked into a good sized pink. After a short tussle, he swam underneath me and I peaked out for a look to see what he was up to. Putting most of my weight on the last tree in front of me, which up till then had seemed pretty solid, I got a lot closer look than I was planning on. My buddies say I screamed like a cat in heat as I summer-saulted into the Skagit. I hung on to my rod and grabbed onto my perscription glasses as they came off my face, but I lost my favorite hat. Got that darn fish, but chuckling could be heard down the river bank for about an half an hour. That river is cold, even in August.