You would think that I learned my lesson about fishing with Mrs. Jagermeister, I didn't.  I took her to the coast with friends of ours and decided that she couldn't get into to much trouble crabbing, not the kind she does at home.  All she had to do was help pull crab pots and sort crabs.  We had an experianced crew and captain.  As we will find out later the captain had over 19 years experiance in this area.  We set out in the SS "please dont sink" and Mrs. Jager suited up in her brand new rain gear and gloves.  We started pulling pots and were having a great time.  Mrs. Jager was in charge of recording the crab count, easy job.  Then Capt. Phill had the great idea of letting Mrs. Jager "throw the hook" to snare the crab pots.  I was pleading for him to change his mind but he is the captain and over ruled my pleading.  Mrs. Jager steps up to the rail and gets ready, I curl up in a corner because I know what is about to go down. 
She was given a long pole with a hook, we wanted to make it easy for her.  All she had to do was lean over, snag the rope and pull in the pot.  Capt. Phill pulled up near the rope and foat, it was just sitting there in the calm water.  Mrs. Jager reaches out with all her ability and missed the rope as we passed by.  Without missing a beat Mrs. Jager snapped at the capatin, "WHAT KIND OF DRIVE BY WAS THAT" obviously refering to her past gang experience.  Now all of us are affriad to say anything.  Capt. Phill is in shock and speechless, he slowing turned the boat and tried for a second pass. I was pretty sure that Mrs. Jager missed the rope because of her verticaly challanged stature, but common sense and love of life prevented me from saying anything.
On the second pass Capt. Phill nearly stopped the boat on the rope, risking catching it in the prop and adding five minutes to our haul.  He was contunuly mumbling the words, "19 years on the water, what do I know."  While the Capt. was mumbling Mrs. Jager was able to hook the rope and haul in the pot.  Her luck was still holding true as she pulled in the largest pot of crab we had seen.  The rest of the day went pretty smothe.  Capt. Mrs. Jager made sure we all did a good job getting her crab. 
I'm not sure about everyone else but Mrs. Jager had a great time.  I thought it was one of my favorite trips on the water, but poor Capt. Phill.  He doubled his rate of smoking and drinking that night.  For the rest of the trip he could found sitting in a corner curled into the fetal position whimpering and repeating the phrase, "what kind of drive by was that."

Fishing with Mrs. Jagermeister

It all started off as a great idea to hike into a back country lake. Mrs. Jager came up with the idea. We convinced Pops to go with us, for comic entertainment. The hike in was nice, we made good time and no one got hurt. At the lake some pictures were taken while Pops and I surveyed the situation. He came up with his plan on a fishing spot and I came up with mine. Meanwhile Mrs. Jager was taking pictures and smelling field flowers.
I put the rods together and set up a fishing spot. This was a special day for me because both rods were my grandpa's who had just passed and left them to me. I gave Mrs. Jager a rod with powerbait,something easy so I wouldn't have to fix her "thing-a-ma-jig" all the time. I set up with a spoon and began working the water. I carefully planned every cast, varied my retrieve speed and adjusted for depths. I noticed that Pops was doing the same thing I was, cheating I suppose. Then breaking the silence was Mrs. Jager with the words no one wants to hear. "I think I have a fish." Judging by the way she haphazardly cast'ed and wasn't even paying attention I deduced that there was no way that she had a fish. I told her that she was stuck on rocks and to stop bothering me.
I went back to carefully selecting a spot to cast to. Mrs. Jager was trying to real in her line to make another wild cast. I noticed something shine and realized she did have a fish. She gets all excited, hooting and hollering, offering to give me fishing lessons, all of which is standard fishing practice when someone catches the first fish. But completely inappropriate coming from her.
I took her fish off and mumbled something about bringing her. I put bait back on her "thing-a-ma-jig" and she made one of the ugliest casts I have ever seen.
As I went back to the analysis of my situation she did it again, "I think I have a fish." "Could it be" I thought to myself. Sure enough she had another one. This continued until Pops and I decided that a storm must be coming in so we would need to leave. Of course Mrs. Jager did not believe us, with the clear sky's and all.
It was a long quiet hike out, and of course I had to carry her fish all the way because she didn't wants to touch them.

JagerMeister's Rube-Goldberg huntin' rig

A few years back, before slightly thinning and slight gray hairs set in, JagerMeister and I were using his 1978 (?) Chevy truck as a huntin' rig.
Jager's history is frought with CalKustom rig's. The electronics were usually 'modified' by Yager when he removed any noise making buzzer, or tape player that only has one cassette tape that could not be removed, which luckily was the soundtrack to "The Blue Brother's" or George Thorogood. It would be 'uncommon' NOT to see a spaghetti loom of wires hanging from the void area where the stereo would usually be found in a truck. In this instance the spaghetti loom exited the hole in the dash, and snaked down to a Mazda car stereo duct taped to the floorboard. His latest fritz'ed out stereos could always be found on a workbench in various stages of dissection, with spools of cassette tape ribbon intertwined with the guts of years of previously removed stereos out for 'repair', and of course, a mix of mystery motorcycle parts.
Jager proclaimed to be as good of a truck mechanic as he was a car stereo repairman. So his huntin' rigs were always as mechanically questionable as Johnny Cash's Cadillac. Back to huntin'!
We hunted most of the morning which was nice and cool but saw very little deer sign. We were hunting on a narrow, twisty road, with the Grand Canyon on the downhill, and K2 on the uphill.
Jager had a plan for me to drop him off, and then for me to drive his rig around the ridge and meet up with him a bit later. Jager bounded off leaving me with his truck keys, and a simple plan. I started the truck and began my slow descent, with about 3 miles to go in 45 minutes.
Road huntin' is supposed to be slow and deliberate, stopping often to confirm that the giant buck with B&C numbers in the 4 digits was just a stump.
As I began to speed up on the decline, I gently pressed on the brake pedal. No response in the decelleration department. I pressed harder, and instead of stopping, I soon felt like I was being launched off an aircraft carrier. It seemed the more pressure I put on the brake pedal the faster I went. A slight bead of panic began to wet my brow, until I remembered the emergency brake. I pushed on the E-brake only to have it go to the floor with NO resistance whatsoever. I am now swerving wildly to remain on the dirt road at a completely unsafe velocity. I reach down to pull the E-Brake release and try it again, only to grab a handfull of bailing wire that apparently was not doing its intended job as applied by Jager. As I am hurtling down the mountain road, I have a realization that I am having to swerve more than appropriate and the steering is slow to react. Obviously the steering wheel had about 180 degrees of slop in it. I day-dreamt just a a fleeting second wondering how much air I was going to get if I failed to negotiate one of the curves and just how impressive the debris field would be. A quick snap back to my dire situation as I felt something bouncing around at my feet. A quick glance confirmed that Jager's custom car stereo installation had dislodged the twice used duct tape and the stereo was sliding around by the pedals. My rifle fell down onto the floorboard by my feet due to all of the swerving, the scope entangled in the remaining stereo wires, which really was unconcerning since the pedals, E-brake, bailing wire, car stereo wedging itself between the pedals and floorboard combined with the steering wheel slop seemed like some kind of cruel Rube Goldberg machine. As I flew down the mountain, fishtailing and sliding around corners like a speedway ice-racer, I cussed Jager and gravity equally, wondering if this was some kind of 'test'. I tried downshifting but the transmission let out a racket and I could smell the emanations of burnt transmission fluid. I passed our rendezvous point as only a blurr, and apparently 43 minutes earlier than planned. Jager's rig slowed from an incline and me swerving up onto a bank. I quickly exited the truck, my rifle hanging out the door ensnared in the steroe wires, and threw a rock under two of the wheels. I was sweating profusely in 40 degree weather with my spine pulsing with adrenaline. I found a spot in the shade and waited until Jager came out of the woods down the road a quarter mile back. He walked up to his truck and told me that I had missed the rendezvous point by a quarter mile making him walk uphill. I told him he should have warned me about the brakes and the play in the steering wheel. He looked at me quizzically and replied, "Awww, you just need to pump the brake pedal a few times and the E-brake only works on level ground." After some deliberation, I hesitantly got in the passenger side as JagerMeister masterfully drove his rig back home, completely ignorant of the mechanical contraption that would be condemned by even the worst Afghani mechanic.
Did I mention Jager can fix your car stereo?

Pop's is lost again

After Pop's took the long shot, "Donk's missed chance", he decided to hike down the canyon to look for blood. Now the canyon goes straight down then straight up the other side. It is nasty country that will make climbing Mt. Everest seem like a day hike. Pop's takes off with his radio and GPS, this is important to remember!! After an hour or so Pops decides there is no blood and is going to meet us at the road. We are talking back and forth on the radio's that have GPS built in. Our radio's will show you where each person is when we are talking, this is important to remember!! After another hour of waiting and noticing that Pops is getting farther away on my GPS we tell him that we will drive down the road and meet him on the other ridge. He agrees and tells us that he is right below the road. Donk and I drive the road and notice that Pops signal is not going to come out at the road. He is going the wrong way. We try to convince him of this but he say's that he is "right below us" and can hear the truck, which would be an act of God for him to "hear" anything. All of a sudden Donk yells out, "there he is." And we see Pops walking away on the mountain north of us. After some tense radio traffic we finally convince him to turn around. After a couple hours we get hooked up and he is beat. His clothes were un-tucked and dripping wet with sweat, his face looked like he went a few rounds with Tyson and he was all but dragging his gun. His excuse, I couldn't figure the "danged GPS thing out."
Some people hunt for the joy of it or to be one with the outdoors. We hunt just to see what Pops is going to do next!