Adventures in Don’s boat

Don has always been quite trusting of me with his boat. This amazes me as I have not demonstrated any understanding of the operation of a water craft. Boats do not act like land vehicles. They respond more slowly and are much affected by the wind, current, changes of positions of passengers, etc. Simply put, boats can be dangerous if one is not cautious. Don is a great guy with which to fish, but caution rarely enters his mind. For this reason, his wife, Pat, has never let him take his grand-kids out on his boat. Since his grand-kids are now in their twenties, and both former lifeguards, I used to think she was overly cautious. However she knows Don better than anyone.

Perhaps these few incidents had some impact on Pat’s reasoning.

Anytime we stopped to fish we would lower the trolling motor to maneuver at a slow speed. While fishing with Don at Lake Evergreen, we decided to move to a new location. Don fired up the big motor to drive across a lake. He forgot the trolling motor was down. As we approached the shore we hit a submerged tree limb breaking off the trolling motor. Fortunately he caught it before the motor sank. I call that tree the Don Memorial Tree. It is a really good crappie hole.

Every fall we started the year with an administrators’ meeting. When Dick was superintendent, he wanted us to tell what we had done that summer.  Don told how he and Paul had gone fishing at Banner Marsh in his boat. According to Don, he was peeing off the front of the boat and Paul started trying to rock the boat side to side. Don lost his balance and fell forward. He said he could see he was going into the water in slow motion. When he hit the water, he lost his prescription glasses. They couldn’t recover them. Now he carries a personal urinal in his boat.

One summer day, Don and I were fishing and had just left the dock, when I realized I had left the cooler in the truck. Don turned the boat around and headed back to the ramp. As we approached the ramp we saw a sheriff’s car sitting in the drive.

Don and I grabbed the dock and I jumped out. The female deputy got out of her car and started down. As she stepped on the dock, I stepped off. I flashed my fishing license at her as she approached. She said to Don, “You were driving pretty fast coming in here”. I continued up to the parking lot and didn’t see what happened next.

The deputy decided to go through everything in Don’s boat. She checked his license, registration. She checked the live well even though Don told her we had just arrived at the lake. She made sure he had a working fire extinguisher etc. Finally she had him open the battery compartment. Don had recharged the batteries before we left. The terminals have plastic caps on them and they have to be flipped up to charge the batteries. Don had failed to flip them back over the terminals. As I stepped into the boat she was finishing writing him a ticket for failure to replace the battery caps. She was enforcing her version of “protect and serve” because that battery sure needed protection.

Don has a mental check list he uses to make sure his boat and trailer are ready to go on the road. When returning from fishing, he recites this list to make sure he has everything connected and tied down. The list works well for him, except, like all of us, he likes to carry on conversation. When this happens he loses track of where he is on the list. Sometime he skips whole sections of the list. On more than one occasion, the part he skipped was to make sure everything on the deck was stowed below or tied down. The result was we had to trace our path back towards the lake to retrieve a missing seat or life jacket. Normally we know about where they are as one of us inevitably saw it fly out the back of the boat on to the road.

Over the years, Don’s boat showed signs of it age. Boat trailers have carpeted bunkers to protect the boat when it is on the trailer. The carpet covers wooden bunks. Don’s eventually rotted through. He failed to notice this situation. On the first launch of the spring we always go together for a shakedown to make sure everything is running correctly. As Don put his boat in the water, the side trailer bunkers floated away.

Perhaps the most amazing boat feat occurred one winter. After having his boat prepared for winter, he returned it to the garage. Somehow he hit something. Sometime later that winter he noticed liquid dripping out the bottom of his boat. The liquid was acid. Investigating he found a tipped over battery. I always remove my batteries, but that winter Don decided on advice of his mechanic that this was unnecessary.

A hole eaten through the hull is serious. When he told me I figured his boat was ruined. Fortunately the mechanic servicing his boat could weld aluminum. He welded a patch over the hole.

The mechanic tuned up Don’s motor and got it ready for spring fishing. As was our practice, I went along for his shakedown run on the boat. After putting the boat in Lake Evergreen, Don asked me to get in and start the motor to warm it up. He drove the trailer to the parking lot.

The boat is a tight fit for me, but I slipped down behind the console. I turned the key, but the boat wouldn’t start. This went on several times. We have had shakedown issues in the past with battery connections being reversed, or fuel not getting into the motor. The problem this time was Don had just had the boat serviced.

Don was pissed and said he was taking it back to the mechanic. We loaded the trailer and headed out. The mechanic’s shop was just five miles from the lake. As we pulled around back, the mechanic came out of the shop. Don told him the problem.

The mechanic said he didn’t understand why there was a problem. He had just run the motor and it was operating correctly. He walked over to the boat and looked inside. He reached in and flipped a switch. He said "you turned off the motor kill switch." He touched the key and motor started immediately. Apparently when I got in the boat my fat body had tripped the kill switch.

That mechanic is no longer in business. I wonder if boat owners like us contributed to his decision to quit.

Don buys a boat

Don and Pat decided that he needed a boat if he was going to continue to fish. The canoe just wasn’t going to cut it anymore. They did a great deal of research looking for the price and features he wanted. This was to be a once in a lifetime purchase so he wanted to get it right. After several months of research and a trip to the boat factory in Lebanon, MO, they decided a Tracker aluminum boat with a modified V front was the best bargain.

Tracker Boats was founded by John Morris who also founded Bass Pro Shops. (He was also my orthopedic doctor’s roommate in college). Morris wanted to manufacture a boat that was completely equipped for fishing. The boats are welded aluminum, not riveted as was the industry standard. The modified V is basically a flat bottom “john” boat, with a tapered front. I know all this stuff because Don talked to me about all the details of his decision.

There are no boat dealers in Bloomington. Why I don’t know. To buy his boat, Don had to go to Springfield, IL or Pekin, IL. Don liked the dealer in Springfield better. Price was not a factor in where to buy, as all Tracker dealers have to sell boats for the same price.

The spring of the big boat buy, the school board had just hired a new superintendent. Bob, the new superintendent, wanted his academic administrators to understand the new direction he wanted to take the district. A national conference was being held in Portland, OR, by one of Bob’s mentors in assessment. Don was scheduled to attend. I wasn’t invited.

On a Friday, Don asked if I would go with him to Springfield to pick up his new boat. I agreed, as I was the one who knew how to back up a trailer. He was to leave for Portland on Sunday.

We arrived at the dealership, and they told Don they wanted to take him out on the water to show him how to operate the boat. This took quite a while as there was much to learn about the motor, depth finder, trolling motor, switches, lights etc. It really was fully equipped for fishing. Don wanted me to learn how to operate the boat as well. I was totally confused as to the operation of the trolling motor foot control.

Don had ordered the boat with a 10 hp motor instead of the standard 25 hp. This was because he planned to fish at Lake Evergreen, where the maximum hp is 10. It was also cheaper with the 10 hp. The boat doesn’t have a lot of power, but it handles very easily.

It was dark by the time we had the boat loaded to return home. We pulled the boat into the drive. Don and I put the cover on the boat.

As I was getting ready to leave Don said, “You can come over and see my wife while I’m gone, but stay away from my boat”

Psychologists have a name for it

The American Psychological Association lists pages of mental issues. The range of listings is extensive and covers every crazy thing people do. One of the sub listing in something called “41^st parallel syndrome” which is serious and affects many people living along and north of the parallel. These people call it by its common name “Ice Fishing”.

I have been invited (actually tricked into) ice fishing on two occasions. Separated as these occasions were by more than 30 years, I could plead a failing memory and do.

My first experience came via my college roommate. Wils said it would be fun. It turns out he didn’t really understand that freezing to death was not fun.

An ice fisher person needs some unique equipment and supplies. In order to survive you need all the clothes you have ever owned. You will need a tiny little fishing pole, something called an “ice auger”, and water strainer thing called an “ice scoop”.

Also needed are supplies like bug larva. These have cute names like waxxies, or mealies, or spikes. Think of something in or on your food that would make you disgusted. These are the ice fishermen’s goodies and you have to keep them from freezing.

My roommate also brought along an important supply, fortified coffee. Technically it was brandy with coffee in it to fight the cold. I was not old enough to legally drink alcohol, but I was old enough to drink coffee.

We met along the Savanna pool in the backwater of the Mississippi River one morning during winter break. We then had to load up all this gear and carry it towards the middle of the pool. It was January, windy, and about 10 degrees. The area we headed to had no shelter of any kind. Wils told me to keep the bait warm inside my jacket. This was better than the old wives tale of keeping them warm in your mouth.

We walked and slipped and struggled and finally stopped. Wils drilled a hole in the ice. I had to scoop out the slush. Before he drilled another hole, he baited a hook and dropped it in. He told me to jig the rod up and down and make sure the hole didn’t freeze over.

After a few minutes of no fish. He drilled another hole and moved the rods. He caught a fish and threw it on the ice. I had started drinking coffee and was feeling much better about ice fishing. My feet were cold, but the rest of me was warming nicely.

One other result of ice fishing is the urgent need to pee. This would involve exposing yourself to an especially dangerous form of frostbite. However, fortified coffee can create quite a demand on one’s bladder. This demand is temporarily reduced by jiggling one’s feet. This form of “ice dancing” is not an Olympic event.

This went on for about an hour, but it seemed longer. My roommate said it was time to go in. I think he decided if we didn’t go in soon, he would have to carry me back. Thus ended my first experience.

Move ahead 30 years. My brother, Tim, called to say there was a fishing tournament on the canal near Geneseo. It was a Saturday in January. Tim assured me he had all the necessary equipment. Included was the most important, an ice fishing shelter. “It will be so warm in there you won’t need a coat”, he said. I said I’d think about it.

We decided to drive to Geneseo. I was still debating this ice fishing thing. I did bring my hand held fish locator called a “Smart Cast” which I used for bank fishing. As we approached town, Tim called.

He was all set up on the canal. He had registered me for the tournament. He said it was really crowded but he had a good spot. He said where he was located. I said “I am not familiar with the area, so how will I spot you?” Tim said “All the shelters look alike” then he thought for a second and said “I am next to a guy who has a big bonfire going on the ice”

I was silent for a while. Tim said “Rick, are you still there?” I answered I was contemplating what he just said. “Don’t worry”, Tim said “the ice is really thick”.

So I dropped Connie off and took my fish locator and drove to the canal. I found the big bonfire and Tim was right next to it. I entered his tepee like shelter and it really was warm. Tim had caught a small bluegill. I dropped my Smart-cast float into the hole and was amazed.

I told Tim, “There are fish all over down there. They are in about 10 feet of water and near the bottom”. Tim said that was “amazing because the canal is only 2 feet deep where we are.”  Then I checked the setting on my depth finder and found it was set on simulator.

The tournament didn’t last much longer, but Tim had a couple of blue gills. All the fisherman assembled in the Issac Walton building for prizes. There were lots of prizes provided by fish equipment manufacturers. There were categories for each species, the biggest fish in each, most caught, and kids categories. Most categories had no fish caught. One small crappie won about 4 categories. They decided to give out the rest of the prizes by drawing entrants names. Tim won a hat. My feet finally got warm.

Now I spend January in south Texas. The  41^st Parallel is way north of here.

Almost Holiday part 2 4:30 pm

Paul started casting toward shore from the front of the boat. I was in the back by the motor. He had a tiny pink crappie jig with a minnow on it. He got a strike and started to reel it in when the fish began to take off.  This was no crappie. He moved around in the boat trying to control the fish. It ran back and under the boat. Paul kept tension on his pole, but had to maneuver around the motor and Don and me as the fish kept circling back. Don and I shouted encouragement but were helpless. Paul kept moving around the boat avoiding the motor, and us.

Then the fish took off racing away from the boat. Paul shouted “We have to follow the fish”.  He was rapidly running out of line, and he only had small diameter line on his rod and couldn’t turn the fish. He told me to start the motor and follow the fish.

I pulled the starter rope, but had no idea how to steer. A tiller steer moves the back of the boat in the opposite direction in which you move it. The wind tended to pivot the boat around the front of the boat. I didn’t understand this. I turned the tiller the wrong way as Paul lurched forward trying to avoid breaking his line. I killed the motor. I started it again, but struggled to go where he wanted. The wind blew my poncho over my head, I couldn’t see or figure how to steer. Paul was excited but kept his cool, giving directions. He never yelled at me as I struggled to help him.

Eventually we got closer to the fish, but the fish repeatedly changed direction. The battle for this fish took us all around that cove.  The sequence of starting the motor , killing the motor, steering the wrong way, turning the other way when Paul or Don told me I was wrong, fighting the wind, and the poncho over my head had to be a sight to see. There were many people out on their moored boats for the Saturday evening. They we sitting on their decks, grilling, drinking beer and watching the circus on the lake. The wind, fish, Paul managing the fish and me fumbling with the boat had to be entertaining. We kept the show going for over 2 hours.  More and more people came out to watch. Eventually Paul brought the fish to the surface before it dove again

 It was a muskellunge (muskie), the largest fish I had ever seen. Muskies are known as “Toothy critters”.  They have rows of razor sharp teeth. Most muskie fishermen use steel leaders because the sharp teeth can cut any line. They are voracious feeders and attack with sudden fast lunges. They can easily pull a rod from your hand. Muskie fishermen use heavy duty rods and fishing line that can be strong as rope. Paul had an ultralight rod and reel. Paul’s skill in tiring this fish was amazing. He kept his cool and let the fish wear itself out. He never pulled hard, but he also never relaxed the tension. This is extremely difficult to do with a large fish and virtually impossible with an aggressive predator. Paul did it for almost 2 hours. After all our fishing and many days on the water, Paul, that day, demonstrated the greatest skill I have ever seen.

After we saw the fish, we tried to figure out what to do next. We had no net and no way to get the fish in the boat. Crappies and bass are grabbed by the lips. That was out of the question. No one would land a muskie without a huge net or a gaff to save your fingers. We had neither, but we had Don.

As the fish finally tired it floated on its side. Paul carefully brought it alongside the boat. Suddenly Don reached both hands under the fish and flipped into the boat. The snapping jaws were next to my feet. I had no place to go so I put my foot on its side to keep from getting bitten. Sticking out the side of the fish’s tail was that tiny pink jig.  We congratulated Paul. The people watching on their moored boats clapped and cheered.

We were tired and 2 hours late to return the boat. We all wanted Paul to keep the fish as a trophy. Unfortunately we had no way to get it home without it spoiling. The only cooler was full of beer still in Sullivan.

We drove back to the marina. A high school girl was waiting for us. Everyone else had left. We felt guilty and hoped she didn’t have a date. The marina had only small coolers for sale. Paul had the fish on a stringer, but the muskie could easily bite through it if it could move enough.  If we put it in the lake it would eventually be gone.

Paul decided the only solution was to keep the fish at the marina and drive for a cooler. Unfortunately Sullivan was closest town with any open business. Paul would have to go back to the hotel, buy ice (the owners wouldn’t have enough trays), and get back. We needed a place to keep the fish. We thought about the big minnow tank.

We then began to triple team that poor girl. We argued we could keep the fish alive in the minnow tank. She was afraid it would eat the minnows. We argued we would keep its mouth out. She relented and we tied the muskie so its gills were in the water and it mouth was lifted above. Paul left for Sullivan and Don and I waited with her to keep the muskie from eating all the bait.

After about 45 minutes, Paul returned with the cooler and ice. We thanked the girl, hopefully tipped her, and loaded the trophy into the car. We were ready for food and beer.

That night is was too late to go out to dinner. With all of the day’s excitement, we decided to eat snacks and drink. We started with beer, and nuts. We switched to Southern Comfort which went down quite smoothly.

We started watching a movie.  The movie, entitled “Skin Deep” starred John Ritter. I am not sure any of us remember the story, however the glow in the dark condom scene is burned in our collective memories.

Our plan was to return to fishing the next day. Unfortunately Southern Comfort, peanuts, and beer make for a very sick next day. After we got up late, we decided it was too cold, or rainy, or something and decided to eat breakfast and go home.

On the way home, there was a left turn to head northwest to Decatur. We were talking and telling stories. Paul, who has absolutely no sense of direction, was driving and turned right. When we reached Mattoon, some 17 miles south east of Sullivan, we decided perhaps we were lost. It was another sign. None of us can recall a fishing trip together, when we did not get lost. Even with GPS, we still turn the wrong way or miss our stop.

Paul had the muskie mounted, and hung it in his rec room. It didn’t survive an errant pool cue from one of the girls and so no evidence exists of that day.

The story of that week-end would be told many times. Eventually different friends decided to accompany us on our annual trip to Sullivan. We had some good times with others. Some of those stories follow. However, nothing has ever replaced that as the greatest fishing time we ever had.

Almost Holiday

The spring of 1990 was near the end of a difficult year for three elementary school principals. It was Paul’s first year at Washington. Couple that with Centennial school closing which packed Sheridan and Irving with record numbers of students. Don’s wife, Pat, who often made suggestions for Don’s mental health (and likely her own), suggested he take a fishing trip with some of his friends. After discussion with Paul and me, he decided Lake Shelbyville was the place to go for early season crappies.  The plan was to rent a boat when we arrived. Paul was the planner, and still is. He called the marina at Findlay; called area hotels and found a cheap one in Sullivan, IL about 15 miles north of the lake. When he asked about the rooms, he was told “Almost Hollriday”. We don't know the real name of the motel, but remember it by that name.

We met to plan the trip, but mostly we drank beer. We decided to bring some beer, snacks, and to eat at restaurants. Don said he would bring some whiskey. I said I’d bring beer and Southern Comfort.

We left Friday evening. No one knew how to get there and we were driving after a tough day at work. Navigating to Sullivan was done with maps and they were small scale maps. We stopped in Mt. Zion, south of Decatur for pizza, and the pizza was slow arriving. We got to Sullivan late and checked in the motel.

 “Ah, Meester O”Brian” they said when Paul told them who we were. The owners, Asian (likely Indian), lived at the hotel. The reception counter adjoined their kitchen. The ice maker in the lobby had a plant on it and a sign “ask for ice”. If we wanted ice, they had to go to the kitchen, break open a plastic ice cube tray and give us ice.  The lobby reeked of curry. One of us had to sleep on a rollout. Paul or Don graciously volunteered. We were so tired we went right to sleep, planning to leave by 6:00 am.

Navigating by guess and a small scale map, we located the Findlay Marina. It was located on a steep incline and it was a long walk down to boat rental place. The marina was like a small tackle store and a huge tank for minnows. They had just opened, as good crappie fishing wasn’t expected for several weeks. Just our luck, but we bought some minnows anyway and rented a boat.

Picture three guys in a small boat with boards for seats, a 6 hp tiller steer motor, only one person who knew how to drive the boat, a windy day, on an 11,000 acre lake none of us had ever seen before. Only Paul had fished from a boat. Don and I had no idea how to find crappies. In our hands this was a prescription for disaster.

Fortunately we located fish early in the day. Paul drove us to some stickup trees fighting the wind. Don was in the middle and I was in the front. Don at least knew how to row or paddle.

I had my rod and reel Connie had given me years ago. It was set up for bass fishing and had medium line and an ultra-light reel (Mitchell Garcia 308). I rigged up a jig at Paul’s direction. I couldn’t cast the little jig in the wind so I just dropped it over the edge. Although it was windy, we tied up to a tree and caught fish right away. This was terrific and I thought fishing with Paul was always going to be successful.

After a cold morning fishing we decided to go in for lunch. We drove to Findlay, and found the only restaurant within 15 miles. I had heard of Findlay in college. One of the guys I played cards with was from there. Every store in town (about 4 buildings) had encouragement for the local basketball team to go to state. (They lost that year, but eventually became the smallest school to win a state title).

After lunch we added bait, gas and headed out. Paul still drove, but the cove where we started stopped producing. Paul drove us to several other locations, but the fishing quit.  It rained for a while and Paul and Don dressed in rain gear. I only had a rain poncho and it kept blowing over my head.

We had to return the boat by 5:00 pm. Paul moved us over to a more sheltered area near some large cabin boats moored at the marina. We decided to fish there until the end of the day as we were close to the marina and it was around 4:30. (to be continued)

Previews of Coming Posts

Movies have trailers and so do boats. Why not have blog trailers of coming attractions?

Are we a hazard to fishing and boating?? We really did the following.  The person(s) involved will be revealed in coming posts.

Put a boat in the lake and have the trailer bunkers float away

Fill the boat fuel tank with diesel fuel

Close a garage door while the boat was in the doorway, breaking the garage door

Drive across a lake with the trolling motor down and then hitting a submerged tree breaking off the trolling motor

Tie a slip knot to the dock and, while retrieving the boat trailer, watch the boat drift across the lake

Knocking over a boat battery while putting the boat away for the winter, and finding acid had eaten through the hull and was dripping on the garage floor

Leaving a seat sitting loosely on the boat deck and losing it while driving down the road

Hitting a rock bar at high speed with the boat motor ruining the lower unit

Backing a boat into the side of a motel and bending the propeller

Putting a boat in the lake while one of the trailer straps was still attached to the trailer

Failing to put up the trailer support wheel and driving for several miles

Leaving an inflatable fishing vest sitting on the boat deck losing it while driving down the road

Failing to weight down a fishing rod and losing it on the interstate highway

Leaving a fishing rod loosely on the boat deck and watching it fall away into the lake while tying a knot on another line.

Failing to tie an anchor to the boat and throwing it overboard

Peeing from a boat, losing balance, and falling in a lake while losing one’s glasses

Getting a ticket for not having the plastic caps snapped down on a trolling motor battery

Turning off the kill switch on a boat and then trying to start the boat motor. When that failed, taking the boat back to the mechanic to complain he didn’t fix it properly.

Remarking how many fish were visible and how deep the water was before discovering the fish finder was set on simulator

Leaving the drain plug out nearly sinking the boat the first time it was launched

And many more…

Dead man fishing

When Robert hired me, we would occasionally play golf. He had a lot of interests, and one of them was fishing. Since I hadn’t fished much since college, I followed his lead. We probably fished several times, but one early trip stands out.

It was a warm day in the summer. Robert and I decided to take our daughters fishing at Dawson Lake. Our daughters were about ages 9 and 10. We drove over the dam to park in a small lot. We planned to bank fish where there were few trees to snag the girls as they cast.

As we got out of Robert’s car, a large woman came running up from the bank. “Help, help” she said. “I can’t move him”. Robert ran down with her and I followed telling the girls to stay by the car. As we got near the lake we saw a man slumped over in a lawn chair holding a fishing rod. Robert looked at him and felt his pulse. He said to her, “I’ll go get help”. He said to me as we walked up, “He’s dead”.  

The girls don’t remember the fishing trip. Robert’s version, and probably the more accurate one, is below.

“Here is how I remember that particular trip.  I don't think it was the one with the girls.  As I remember it I wanted to try using the canoe with two guys.  While we were getting it off the station wagon, we kept hearing a strange wailing cry.  It sounded like a wild animal in distress more than a human.

The most memorable part of the whole thing was that eerie, twilight zone like, sound.  This went on for a few minutes before we saw the woman trudging along the trail on the shoreline.  She was overweight, slow, waving her arms in the air, and clearly in dire distress.   

It took a few more minutes to understand what she was saying between her sobs and gasps.  She finally conveyed something bad had happened back down the path and I took off to see what it was.  When I came on the old gentleman he was sitting in his chair with his fishing pole.  He appeared to have dozed off and was not responsive.  I checked for a heartbeat, pulse, breathing.  He was showing no responses and his chest and arms were already hardening up.  There was no give in his muscles.  It was pretty clear he was dead and had been for a while.”

There was a station wagon in the parking lot. There were wash tubs in the back of the station wagon with many catfish on ice. I stayed with the girls as Robert drove to the local restaurant to get help. He called to LeRoy which is about 8 miles from the lake, so it took the volunteer department quite a while to respond. The girls kept wanting to see what was going on, but I kept them up in the parking lot.

When the fire department rescue squad arrived we left. The woman apparently went with the ambulance.

Several days later, Robert got the rest of the story.

“Apparently the old gent had not been taking his blood pressure meds as he should have.  They had been eating the wrong food and having a good time as well.  Not so good for someone with high blood pressure.  

It also came out that the old gent and his girlfriend would scamper off from time to time.  Supposedly he told his wife he was going fishing with a buddy, but the buddy was the girlfriend and the wife was not deceived.  So, the wife was not too happy about any of this and thought the old boy got his just desserts.”  

When the police finally reached her by phone to come and retrieve the car, she told them to “let it sit”. Apparently she wanted to strand “that woman” in LeRoy.

After several days of sitting in the hot July sun, one can imagine the smell of that car with the tubs of catfish.

The Shangri-La

When my older brother, Ron, lived in Louisville, KY, he bought a boat. I didn’t know much about it except that he had never been around boats. My step-dad, Al, was a lifetime fisherman. My brother, Steve, wanted to get us together, and decided a fishing trip would be a good way to go. Steve knew Al fished for walleyes in Minnesota, so asked Ron if we could go fishing for walleyes in Kentucky. Now we know, but didn’t know then, Kentucky is known for crappie, bass and trout fishing, but not walleyes. The only place Ron could find walleye was on the Cumberland River which is on the far eastern border of Kentucky. We decided to go during my spring break, which was late in March.

I was the only principal on this trip. The plan was for Steve and Al to pick me on the way to Louisville. With Ron’s boat we were short one for four people. We planned to rent one, and Al brought a 6 hp motor to use.

We arrived at Ron’s in the late afternoon. As we pulled to the garage I saw his boat for the first time. The motor was in pieces. Knowing Ron lacked the mechanical skills, this looked like trouble.

Ron assured us that he knew how to put it together. That evening he reassembled his boat motor.  We loaded everything into his big station wagon and headed on our adventure. Ron drove, which is an experience in itself. Ron also had found a “resort” on the river and had rented a “suite” with two beds.

Eventually we encountered a major traffic jam on the Cumberland Parkway.  Ron decided he didn’t want to sit in traffic. He drove to the shoulder of the four lane and down on the edge of the median; this while pulling his boat, and three rather nervous passengers.

After exiting the median and the four lane, we drove for most of the day until we found a small town near the river. I believe it was named Nancy, KY. We had to go out from the town to reach the “resort”. When I asked Ron the name of the place he said “The Shangri-La”. I did not have a good feeling about that.

We found The Shangri-La. It was a single level motel situated under a cliff. It was above the river and marina. It also wasn’t open.

The Shangri-La opening was several weeks away. The rooms weren’t ready. They rented us a room with two “double beds” and a kitchen. Each bed was slightly larger than a single bed. The room had a furnace, but it was not on. The room was very cold. It was the western slope of the Appalachian Mountains and late March.

Al is a pretty small guy, but Ron, Steve, and I all are king size. The first discussion between Steve and me was who was going to be stuck in the same small bed with Ron. I lost. The next discussion was how to light the furnace. The oil burner lacked a pilot light, so matches were needed. It also didn’t work well and kept going out. When it was lit, it sounded like a small explosion. After many tries, Steve propped open the fuel valve using part of a book match.

After a restless night of small beds, and relighting the furnace, we awoke to a cold room and slightly warmer day. Steve and Al rented a boat at the marina, while Ron and I put his boat in the water. After several attempts launching Ron’s boat, we met Al and Steve on the river. We were advised to go upstream through the rapids to get to pools for walleyes.

We left with Ron leading. Ron struggled negotiating the rapids. Although he should have had plenty of horsepower, the boat wasn’t performing and he was inexperienced in navigating a swift current. Al and Steve had much less horsepower, but Al was experienced with river fishing. They soon passed us to the pools beyond each rapids.  As they passed they said their boat was leaking. Al caught three fish right away, but they weren’t walleyes.

Ron and I passed through two rapids and were in the middle of the third when Ron’s boat motor died. We started to drift back down stream. With no power we were in danger of getting cross-ways in the current and capsizing. As we floated down we drifted to the side and out of the main current. Ron took his motor cowling off to see if the plugs were fowled. He pulled the two plugs, but they were not dirty. He decided to change them anyway.

Working on a boat motor while in the water is difficult. To get to the plugs you have to hang out over the back to work on the plugs. This is difficult in calm water. A swift river makes it especially scary.

Ron tried to replace the plugs but had difficulty getting them square in the hole. After several tries they seemed to tighten. About this time, Steve and Al had drifted back down and were by the back of Ron’s boat.

We drifted a little way from Al and Steve, and Ron tried to start his boat. Immediately both spark plugs flew out of the motor and shot across the river. Fortunately Al and Steve were not in line with the projectiles. Steve tried to put in the other plugs, but the threads were gone.

With no threads left to hold the original plugs, Ron and I drifted down the remaining rapids toward the marina. When we got back to the marina Steve and Al decided to return their leaky rental.

Steve and Al turned in their boat and rented another. Al cleaned his three fish. We ate by the hotel. After lunch, Ron and I rented a boat and motor at the marina.

As we headed back up the rapids, we started to take on water. We decided they must have rented us the boat Steve and Al had turned in. We also struggled again with the rapids and the rental motor did not function well.  We fished for a while, but had no luck.

After sitting with wet feet and no fish we decided to go back in. With an unreliable motor, we drifted most of the way back. After turning in the boat, we decided were not going to spend another cold night in the hotel. We drove into town for dinner and looked for another cabin or hotel. We couldn’t find any that were open.

After dinner we reluctantly returned to The Shangri-La. I had to sleep with Ron again. After another cold night of listening to the furnace light, pop and go out, we decided our fishing trip was going to end in the morning.

We left early. After the long trip across Kentucky we reached Ron’s house. I was sure his motor was ruined. He told me later a mechanic inserted sleeves in the cylinders and fixed the plugs. He sold the boat some time later, and I never saw it again after our Cumberland River adventure.

Whenever we go anywhere fishing, and someone else makes motel reservations, I always ask the motel name to make sure there isn’t another Shangri-La.

Manmade Disasters: The Titanic, Chernobyl, and Fishing with My Family and My Buddies

Now this post title may seem extreme. After all the other disasters resulted in multiple lives lost and millions of dollars that were never to be recovered.

I should admit up front that never have we killed anyone while fishing or boating.  There were times when the possibility arose in my mind, but we all survived, at least up till now. Having said that, we did experience a human death as you will see in an early story.

So who are the principals of fishing and boating?  No it isn’t misspelled. I have most of my experience with guys with whom I worked. Don, Paul, and Robert are the most frequent culprits. We all worked as principals, (school administrators by various titles) in the same school district. Each, in his own way, has made fishing most memorable and scary.  I have many family fishing adventures as well, and I will attempt to weave these in among the tales of woe which represent my life of fishing with the principals.

Fishing in a canoe

When I first met Robert, Don, and Paul, they all owned canoes. Paul also owned a small boat with an outboard motor. I had experience with canoeing, but it was mostly bad experience.

The first summer after I was hired as principal at Irving, Connie and I were invited to the annual Irving School Canoe Trip on the Mackinaw River.  This was a combination float trip and drinking affair. Unfortunately the participants were expected to canoe from the put in spot to the takeout spot, around several bends in the river.

I am not sure if it is my high center of gravity, or basic incompetence on the water, but Connie and I managed to tip over every year. She did not like this and eventually refused to canoe with me The last few years, we just joined the party at the end.

Robert and I went fishing several times the first years we worked together. These were trips on Dawson Lake and generally went well. After several trips on a lake with Robert, I began to think I could actually fish from a canoe. 

Then I met Don.

Don was such an avid canoer, he often carried it to work on the top of his truck. He asked me canoe with him on Lake Evergreen, which is much larger than Dawson Lake. The bigger lake had more wind requiring more control. Since I am much larger than Don, steering from the rear was difficult.  Result, dumped canoe.

Never one to give up, Don again asked me to go fishing in his canoe. This time we fished at the much smaller Dawson Lake. The wind was mostly calm and we managed to successfully reach the area across the lake near the dam.

As we approached the dam, Don spotted Paul with his son, in his boat with an outboard. We waved at them, but didn’t approach them. We fished until near dark with no incidents. We decided to head back to the boat ramp before dark. Paul and his son were still fishing when we left.

As we approached the dock, Don told me to grab the dock and pull us close. As I reached out, I felt the canoe start to roll over. In an instant it was upside down and we were soaked. We recovered our gear since the water was shallow and we were able to stand.

Unfortunately a canoe full of water is not easy to move. We struggled to right the canoe, but it didn’t move. Our major concern was that Paul would come back in and see we had made fools of ourselves and dumped the canoe.

It seemed like it took 30 minutes to finally slide the canoe on to the ramp and empty the water. We hurried to get the canoe on to Don’s truck and get away before Paul returned. The whole time were doing this, a man was sitting near the ramp on a park bench.

 We could hear Paul’s motor approaching as we got ready to leave, thinking Paul would never know. As we got into Don’s truck, soaking wet, I said “I’ll bet the first thing that guy says when Paul gets here, is ‘You should have been here earlier to watch these two clowns dump their canoe’”.

To quote Don, “I feel for Connie she thought she was going for an idyllic float trip down the Mackinaw and winds up drenched looking like she was in a wet tee shirt contest, smelling like lake bottom and having a soggy lunch. 

Canoeing with Rick is like having a bear sitting in front of you [a big bear] .  I am not a physics major but I figure Rick's center of gravity about 28 inches above his tail bone thus meaning any movement east or west results in an afternoon swimming. We all voted only to go out with him in at least a 17 foot, v-bottom bass boat.”

Don and I don’t canoe anymore.