Michigan Sportsmen’s Web

After unloading our boat my son and I headed town the Sacramento River for a day of fishing. Earlier that week Roger and I had found a nice fishing spot located in Potato Slough, just off the San Jaquine River. It was quiet, out of the wind and the currents were perfect for catching striped bass. It was
important to me that I teach my son exactly what catch and release meant. That a sport could be very enjoyable without having to kill anything.

We fished for several hours before the wind began to kick up. The waves became rough and even more so when boat after boat passed us, at a high rate of speed, heading into the various marinas along the
river.

One large fishing boat slowed down when he noticed us sitting up in the tall weeds. He immediately turned and headed in our direction. I was surprised when he pulled up, less than twenty yards from us,
and began tying up his boat. I watched as he threw out ten or fifteen open cans of dog to chum up the fish, which was illegal. I was surprised that within minutes he had caught a large twenty or thirty pound fish.

He baited up again, stood and cast out his line. When he did the bait flew off the hook and fell into the water. From out of nowhere, and I mean from out of nowhere, a large pelican swooped down and
picked up the floating bait.

The fisherman reeled in, baited his hook and once again threw out his line. The large bird dove after the bait and grabbed it before it has a chance to sink. The man jerked back on his fishing pole, as hard
as he could, hooking the pelican in the beak. The bird let out a high pitch scream and began to fight with all its might. The fisherman, his fishing poled doubled over, continued hauling the screaming, frightened bird up to his boat.

Most of the time the large Pelican was being drug beneath the water

“What the heck are you doing?” I yelled out.

He paid me no attention as he hauled the terrified, half drowned flapping bird up into his boat.

I watched as he fought with the animal. There were arms, legs, wings and water flying everywhere. While holding the large bird between his legs he reached over, grabbed his tackle box and pulled out a large knife.

Thinking he was going to cut the fishing line, I just stood watching. All at once he grabbed the bird by the neck and flipped it upside down.

“What are you going to do?” I screamed.

“This son-of-a-bitch won’t eat anyone else’s bait. I’m gonna cut off his damn beak.”

I reached over, grabbed my flare-gun and stuck a single cartage into the chamber. I stood up and pointed it toward his boat.

“Put that bird back into the water, and I mean right now, mister.”

The man stopped what he was doing, looked in my direction and just sat there.

“And just what are you going to do with that damn thing you stupid idiot?” he yelled back.

I looked over at my son, his eyes now as big as saucers and a look of horror on his face.

“Roger, get on the radio and call the Coast Guard, quickly” I instructed.

He just stood there, petrified, unable to move.

“I mean it. I’ll shoot this damn thing right into your gas tank, if you touch or harm that bird in any manner,” I told the man. I nodded my head toward him in a very sincere manner.

The large man stood up and turned to face me.

“I mean it. I’ll shoot this thing and they won’t find much left of you, except maybe a few small pieces,” I told him.

He stood there for several seconds then reached down and grabbed the bird around its neck. I cocked the flare-gun and pointed it in the directly at the side of his boat. Quickly, the man threw the bird out the back of his boat and then he faced me once again.

Staring at me, he pointed his finger and began to shake it up and down. “I’ll get you son-of-a-bitch,” he told me. Dropping his hand, he turned and walked to the front of his boat. Starting the engine he gunned the motor and backed out of the tulles at full throttle. Roger Jr. and I watched as he gave us the finger and then headed up the river.

“Dad, would you have shot that man with that fire pistol?”

“I don’t know, son. I just don’t know.”

The Pelican swam around for about thirty minutes before it came up to the back of our boat. Roger yelled with excitement when the large bird jumped up onto the backseat and began eating the anchovies we were using for bait. We both just sat there laughing.

Very slowly, I reached over, opened the ice chest and took out another package of bait. I held out a small fish to the bird, which he took from my hand. Surprised the Pelican was not afraid of us. I handed the package to Roger and sat watching as he fed the animal. After about fifteen minutes it was time for us to head home. As I stood up and the bird flew off the transom and moved away from the boat.

I could hardly believe my eyes as the Pelican, for almost three miles, flew several hundred yards above our boat. When we pulled into B&W Marina, the large bird swooped down, right above our heads, gave out several loud, high pitch crys, then it turned sharply upward and continued to climb.

Was it because we had food on our boat or was it that the pelican wanted to make sure that we arrived safely. I don’t guess we will ever know the answer to that question.

Roger and I watched as the pelican became smaller and smaller and finally disappeared into the distance. I am nopt sure if this happened because we had food or because the Pelican wanted to see that we too got back safely. I guess Roger and I will never know. The smile I saw on my son’s face was worth a million dollars and it stayed there the entire trip home.

True stories from “The Life and Times of Roger Dean Kiser, author, child advocate.

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