Ok, the day from fishermen ON from hell! I have fished with my son since he was in diapers and he is now 29 without him, me or anybody else getting a hooked in my boats.

When he was 27 we decided (after a long day of guiding) to anchor up at the BC wall and do some drift fishing. We ran into a couple of friends that were going to walk into BC and offered to take them along, they accepted and off we went. Well about an hour into it I bring my rod back for a cast as my son backed up, when I came forward with my cast his ear was in a direct line with my hook (big ouch coming) the hook penetrated the cartilage in the top of his ear and went in way past the barb. I felt horrible, as soon as I knew he wasn’t going to throw me in the drink (he’s 6’6” 240 lbs. and ripped) I had to ad some humor and told him to leave it in and be a little different with a hook earring. Well he decided not to have the earring and we proceeded to cut the hook and remove, he was ok and I felt like a fool or should I say tool!
Same day 1 hour later, one of our friends is sitting on the front step deck casting a six foot leader and we heard what we thought was a 22 gunshot, then reality struck, John was screaming I hooked myself I, he turned around and lifted his T-Shirt and there it was a #2 Gami right through his shoulder blade without the leader, a little surgery and some choice words and we were back in business, fishing that is.
Scott

Scott

Here is one about the determination of a dad to take his sons fishing.

Many, MANY moons ago (I think I was 8..now 44) my dad had taken my brother and I to Cachuma Lake (Santa Barbara area of Ca.).

We didn't own a boat, so we rented one of the 14' alum. with small OB. Had found us a nice little cove, but the boat had no anchor so to tie us up so we could fish some worms my dad took a big old Bomber plug (I remember it was yellow with black spots), tied on some 50 lb. mono to it and snagged it on a log that was hanging off-shore.

We fished for a bit, and when deciding to go he (dad) reached over to un-snag that big plug from the log...you guessed it..the hook popped free and buried itself in his right thumb just at the first joint.

My dad never was a man to swear..but he seemed to take special care with this situation and openly shared his thoughts on the issue of this hook buried way past the barb in his thumb joint.

He cut the line off and got the OB started, and motored into the little marina they had at the time. Leaving my brother and I in the boat, he went up to some picnic tables they had next to a little food kiosk, and proceeded to try and yank that hook out...no go.

He finally got some pliers with side cutters and cut the hook off below the eye, and proceeded to try and push that beast through his thumb and out the top side...seems a bone was in the way. He passed out twice trying to do this...scared the hell out of my brother and I.

Ultimately, he got us back in the old wagon, and then drove to a local hospital (1/2 hr. away?) and had that hook cut out of his thumb.

I'll never forget when he got back to the car (we waited)...he said...were here to fish, ain't we?

We went back and fished the rest of the day...never caught a thing (aside from his thumb)...but its a day I'll never forget. He had promised us a fishing trip, and no matter what was going to make sure we got in a full day.

Mike

Okay, I got one. (BTW Mike B, congrats on you de-virgin-iz-ation! )
Florida 5 years ago. I was going to wade some flats on the gulf side in the vicinity of Tampa. Red fish were the target, as I had hooked many of those in that area in previous days along with some other species.
I had an over the shoulder tackle bag. In the cordura strap was a 3 treble hook minnow bait that was inbedded. The big barbed saltwater trebles were in there solid.
I was supposed to meet a buddy at the spot, but he didn't show. So I proceed along a trail to the waters edge the look for signs of fish.
Hearing a car pull up at the trailhead I didn't proceed into the water thinking my fishing partner was just behind me. No one came.
So I went to set by bag down to get out a water bottle. There was a pop-feeling in my leg, specifically in my inner thigh.
As I swung the somewhat heavy bag off my shoulder, the tail hook of the plug caught my inner thigh, while the other hooks were still in the strap. I dropped my rod/reel in the sand as the pain started to set in. I had to hold the bag still and couldn't walk with it attached to me. Nor could I get into the side pocket to get out the pliers inside. The hooks would not come out of my leg or the bag using just my fingers.
I don't know how many minutes went by of just standing there motionless under the 90 degree sun trying not to move the bag. Maybe 15.
That's when my partner apeared out from the trail. It was his car that pulled up, but he spent those 15 or so minute rigging up, he told me later.
I hollared up at him to get down here.
He was a little confused at first but after seeing the blood, and how the lure was connecting the bag to my inner thigh, her ran up to his car.
He came back with the most corroded pair of dykes you cold imagine. He barely got 'em open, but did, and handed them to me. I just wanted to get the bag free from my leg. Didn't care about tetnis.
Cutting the shank of that heavy treble hook was not easy with this old rusty tool but I managed to get it, and free myself of this prediciment.
Finally I was able to set my bag down and get to my water bottle.
Lesson learned.
I had another nice one last year getting a barbless siwash in my hand while releasing a salmon boatside. But I won't soon forget being attached to my tackle bag and rendered motionless on that Florida beach with the Florida sun and humidity.

J.D.