I was talking on the phone to friend Bill LaVigne the other day. He was telling me about a recent trout fishing trip that he had taken on a small lake in northeastern Indiana, where one of the fish he’d hooked jumped right into the boat. It sounded a bit like a fish story, but I politely responded with the appropriate “wows” and other expressions of surprise.

I had been wanting to try some inland trout fishing, so later in the conversation, we made plans to meet the following weekend to fish at that same lake.

On the designated Saturday, we launched Bill’s boat and started fishing. We were fishing for rainbow trout, and they were scattered throughout the lake, along sharper drop-offs. While the sun was bright and high overhead, the action was a bit slow. But after the sun started dipping toward the western horizon, the rainbows started to become more active.

The action really started to heat up after it got dark, even though the air was getting cold. We were using nightcrawlers for bait, cutting them in half and setting them 30 feet down over deep water with a slip bobber. Bill rigged a bright lantern to hang over the side of the boat, which made it easy to watch the bobbers and bait hooks. We didn’t get a fish every time we put the bait in the strike zone, but we did hook and land almost every trout that pulled the bobber under the surface.

One of the rainbows made it easy for us. I saw my bobber slowly going down a gondt ready to set the hook. As soon as it was an inch or two under the surface, I reared back and set the hook hard. I felt him for only a second, and before I could finish the hookset, it felt like he was gone.

At the same instant, however, in the lantern light, I saw a blur streaking away to the left and up from where the fish must have felt the hook. The water was very clear, so even though the fish was 30 feet below the surface, I figured that streak of light must be the fish darting away from the offending hook.

I was right; but the fish wasn’t just swimming away; it was coming up. Less than a second later, the fish came flying out of the water and literally landed in Bill’s hands at the back of the boat! Bill was busy tying on a new hook, so he didn’t see it coming. The fish fell through his hands and started flopping around on the floor of the boat. The hook was still in its mouth!

I looked at Bill and started laughing. I haven’t caught many inland rainbows, but I’ve caught lots of steelhead on Lake Michigan, and I’ve seen plenty of them jump. In fact, their most famous characteristic is their jumping ability. Even so, after years of steelhead fishing, no steelie has ever jumped into the boat while I was on board. No fish of any kind has ever jumped into the boat with me before!

After we calmed down, we put that fish into the cooler and went back to fishing. We caught a couple more rainbows as it got later and later, and then I hooked a bigger one. At first, it didn’t fight much harder than any of the other 1- to 2-pound trout that we had caught, but when I got it up to the surface, we could see in the light of the lantern that it was a good 4- or 5-pound fish.

When I saw how big it was, I switched the reel off anti-reverse so that I could backreel some line if needed and prepared for a tough battle right at the side of the boat. To make things worse, we had plenty of gear hanging over the side of the boat that the fish could get tangled in: lantern dangling out over the side on a bracket, three other lines/bobbers still sitting there, and two anchor ropes set.

The opportunity for the fish to tangle me up was definitely there. Luckily for me, it didn’t happen. He was big and smart and must have had a plan of his own. Bill was ready with the net, and I was getting ready to turn him back toward the boat.

Suddenly, he turned around and rocketed out of the water! It looked like he had decided to go on the offensive and take us by surprise! In a split second, he leaped out of the water and hit Bill squarely in the chest! I saw the fish fly past me, and I heard the thud as it bounced off of Bill, but I could hardly believe it. Fortunately for us, he landed in the boat, and he was ours!

This time, both of us burst out laughing uncontrollably. We were indeed taken by surprise, and I’ll bet the fish was surprised, too. Our laughter probably carried all the way across the quiet lake, but I’m sure no one could guess why we were giggling so much.

That night, Bill made a real believer out of me. Fish really do jump into the boat on occasion. Bill did admit, though, that two fish jumping into the boat on the same trip was a new record!