The fishing pole bent double as Jaybird struggled to hold it. Then, a monster crappie fighting fiercely broke the surface in a watery explosion. When he reached out to grab his catch, the hook dislodged and flew straight into his hand.
Terrified, I shrieked, “Jaybird — we’ve got to get to the hospital right away!” As calmly as if he had merely nicked a finger, he replied, “No, the fish are biting. We’ll catch the limit before leaving this lake. You’ll remove the hook from my hand.”
Trembling with fear, I tried pushing the hook back through the web of flesh between his thumb and forefinger, but he stopped me, warning that the barb would make the wound worse. Next, I grabbed the monofilament line, intending to bite it into, only to hear the calm voice again: “No, if you do that, the hook’s eye will have to go through the wound and do more damage.”