TO REMOVE A FISH HOOK WITH A BARB unable to be pushed through and snipped off, try wrapping or looping line around the bend in the hook and yanking the hook back toward the direction from which the barb had entered. The columnist’s wife declined to place the hook where it was originally, so an avocado was used. Even with its thick skin, it worked. (Photo by John and Vicky Jefferson)

by John Jefferson 

Then we had to climb over big, uneven rocks to get to the trail back uphill to the lodge. Continuous audibles.

Guests heard her and assembled in the yard. Nobody knew the hook removal trick – or wouldn’t admit it. It was up to me. Since it was under her thumbnail, it couldn’t be pushed through and clipped, like some hook extractions. I asked for alcohol to sterilize it. They came back with a small, ornate bottle in a purple, felt bag that a fisherman had left there, with maybe two ounces in it. I tried to remember how the trick worked as I poured it in a plastic cup, dribbling it onto her thumbnail, painfully watching it run off her hand onto the ground.

I wrapped eight-pound-test line around the bend of the hook several times and tied it on, so it wouldn’t break when yanked upward. I could have formed a loop and slipped it over the bend of the hook, too. Two big guys held her hand flat on the picnic table. I didn’t want to just jerk her loose hand upward. I knew this was a one-shot affair. It had to work the first time. Another person gently pushed on the back of the hook’s shank to move the barb back a little into the path it had entered. I said a short prayer as another gave a countdown. I was too nervous to count, myself, afraid I might forget what came after “Two”. On “THREE!”, I gave a mighty heave heavenward, hoping for help from above. There was a little “POP” and an “UNH!” from my patient as the hook instantly popped out.

Everybody cheered. I sank into a chair — sweating, exhausted.

Vicky was receiving Atta-girls from the group for her bravery and she asked for my cup. Embarrassingly, I burped, and handed her the now-empty vessel.

That was something I never want to do again. Hope you never have to, either. You might want to re-read how it’s done. It’s often the only salvation. Especially when you’re isolated from civilization, upstream without a paddle. Or a boat. For another 24 hours. No roads out.

Then we trudged back to the river and continued fishing – carefully removing hooks the rest of the evening.

JJ