Writings By Phil

February 10, 1978

We had a day off as we waited for more of our supplies to be brought up by boat. I was dried out from the day before, and it had stopped raining and the day was already warmer than I liked. Something to do would be better than sitting around camp. Alan Foster invited me to go fishing with him. I had neither hooks nor fishing line, but he furnished both. I cut a green sapling from the jungle to use as a pole. Alan had grown up in Bolivia and seemed always prepared for whatever adventure that came our way.

I caught a Piranha about nine inches long.  I flung it as far back onto the riverbank as the short line on my makeshift jungle-stick fishing pole would allow. If the fish made a break for the river, the distance would give me a few more seconds to decide how to get my hook out of that mouth full of teeth.  We didn’t have a pair of pliers and there was no way I was going to let my fingers touch that hook and twist it out of that fish! I felt lucky to even to land a piranha without a wire leader between the hook and the nylon line. A piranha’s teeth are sharp and can easily cut nylon fishing line!

My fish began flipping its tail, flopping one way and then the other, slowly propelling its body downhill towards the water. I didn’t want to lose it, especially with my hook still in it.  I quickly stepped on it; glad I was wearing my old boots that would protect my toes from the predator. When I did, it growled at me! It was almost scary- ferocious fish! I don’t really believe a fish can yowl, so the sound I heard was probably air trapped inside the fish’s body, or its guts protesting the pressure of my foot on its personal space.

For bait, we were using a white sardine Alan had caught earlier.  He had hooked another sardine before that, but the piranha devoured it before he could pull it from the water.

One of the Bolivians , who had been so kind the day before in giving us hot tea, was watching us.  He left, but a short while later returned with his pole; like ours, a jungle stick with a string tied on the end.

He gave us a big smile and said, “I’ll take you where the fish are really biting!”

Alan translated his words so I could understand what he was saying.

The man continued, “The mosquitos will be biting, too!”

Our new friend brought wire to make a leader the piranha couldn’t bite through. He shared it with us. I was glad, because the fish had already cost me two hooks, hooks I had borrowed from Alan!

We soon arrived at his favorite spot and cast our lines into the water. I got nibbles but was unable to land a fish.  As far as I was concerned, the only thing the man got right was the part about the mosquitos- they came out in droves.  Alan and the Bolivian, both, caught several piranhas.

I had no idea there was more than one kind of piranha, but that day, we caught at least three varieties of the species. When we left to go back to camp, Alan gave all his fish to the Bolivian. He doesn’t care to eat piranha.  Don’t know if I would have like them or not, but one thing was certain, I would rather be eating them, than have them eating me!

END

This story was from the category Tales From Green Hell. If you would like to read more of my experiences in the jungles of Bolivia, please click on that link below.

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