One warm fall day at Blackberry Campground, Carol and I were wading in the Alsea River, trying to catch Crawdads. We were splashing and laughing, flailing about with a big Salmon net which had too large a mesh to really catch anything smaller than a fairly big fish.
We were in waist deep, crystal clear water and we could see schools of small fish and the bright red Crawdads darting ahead of us as we tried to keep our feet under us in the swift current.
Suddenly Carol yelled “What's that?” as a long black, snake like thing swam into view. She made a stab with the net and somehow captured it, but when she raised the net it wriggled free.
“It looks like an eel,” I said, let's see if we can net it again!” It out maneuvered us, swimming between our legs and avoiding the net no matter how hard we tried.
“I don't see it any more,” I said, shading my eyes to stop the reflection.
“There it is,” Carol yelled, “right beside your leg!”
I felt a strange tingling on my right leg and suddenly I realized that the eel had fastened itself on to me.
“SHIT!” I yelled, “IT'S ON MY LEG!”
I began thrashing, splashing, and trying with some success, to run on water. The next thing I knew I had scrambled up the steep rocky bank and was standing there shaking, looking down at Carol who was having a great time laughing at me. The eel had come loose somewhere in the commotion and was probably wondering what kind of strange fish it had tried to latch on to.
Later, after my heart rate had dropped considerably, and Carol quit chuckling, I showed her the circular ring with two fang marks the eel had left during it's brief encounter on my leg. It still gives me the willies!
