Fishing in the Central Valley: A buddy’s good luck can be an angler’s bad luck

I’m not usually a conspiracy theorist, but when it comes to fishing I’m pretty suspicious if things don’t add up especially, if a good fishing buddy is involved.

That means my buddy is catching quite a few big fish and I’m catching none.

Here’s my side of the story.

It all began about two months ago when Sonny Johansen of Clovis and I went fishing together for stripers at San Luis Reservoir. It was a long day and we caught some fish, but it wasn’t as good as we expected. We talked about going again the following week.

A couple days later, I received a call from him saying that he had fallen on his right hand and wrist.

Well, he had a fracture and needed to be placed in a cast. The diagnosis was that he would have to stay in the cast for four weeks and there would be no fishing since the movement could make the fracture even worse.

Of all the things that could happen to stop an angler from fishing this one wasn’t on our radars. We discussed the options to get Sonny back out as soon as possible. We discussed modifying the cast so he could use his hand just a little. He was desperate.

Two weeks later he called excitedly to say he had just gotten a call from the radiologist and that he did not have any fractures, just a bad sprain. He told him to cut off the cast immediately, and to start using the arm and wrist slowly, but normally.

Wow. His death sentence was overturned.

Of course Sonny felt that he could now go fishing with me the next day. He already felt “better.” Hmmm. I guessed he would be okay and it was his choice to try. I still felt sorry for him and needed some mercy at the moment. My mistake.

We took off on a Friday for one of our fishing spots. Within less than 5 minutes of being out on the water, he gets a hard hit and the fight is on. Funny, his wrist is holding up just fine as the fight intensifies. We’re both sure it’s a big striper and I finally net the huge 44-inch, 32-pound fish. It’s a new personal best for him. It’s also the first fish he’s caught since his accident.

I neglected to mention that the day was Friday the 13th.

So we head back out fishing after releasing his striper while my bad luck continues. I hate getting ambushed. His hand was still weak but I didn’t see it.

It’s later in the day, and we approach a good area just as I suddenly hear his drag take off screaming again.

Another big fish?? Sonny is just smiling.

I’m not. I hate being a net man. This fish was just a baby at 41½-inches, 29 pounds. Yikes.

At this point he’s got a monstrous two striper limit that totaled out at a huge 61 pounds. You don’t see that very often. Crazy. He wasn’t supposed to be doing anything for weeks. If I didn’t know better I would have to say he was on a mission that day to prove he was OK.

Yeah, I got a few small measly stripers, but I was only along for the show and to net his big fish. For me, it was a very humbling day.

It’s still funny to think that:

• There was no plan for Sonny to fish.
• His very first fish was his personal best 32 pounder.
• Then he got another 29 pounder.
• It was Friday the 13th.
• And I got shut out.
• I still haven’t figured it out how he did it.
• I hate getting crushed by my fishing buddy?

But like you, I will: Never give up