Paul and his boats

Paul decided sometime in the early 1990’s (he can’t remember when exactly) that his little boat was no longer going to meet his needs. He bought a 17 ft. Lowe equipped with a 75 hp outboard motor. He had teenage sons and they wanted to do more than just fish. It was terrific fishing boat, quite large, and well equipped with a trolling motor and two depth finders which both show water temperature. Paul liked to fish at Clinton Lake, where such a powerful outboard motor could be used. We took many trips in this boat.

Clinton Lake is a cooling water lake for the Clinton Nuclear Power Plant. As such, the lake has an area that is significantly warmer than the rest of the lake. During early spring and late fall this area usually has good fishing.

Neither Don, Paul nor I can hear very well. Don at least has conceded to wearing hearing aids. On one occasion on Clinton Lake, Paul was sitting at the bow of the boat running the trolling motor.  I was in the middle and Don was sitting in the back.  We were near the bridge that is close to the warm water discharge. Sitting in the middle afforded me a good position to hear this conversation.

Don looking at the bridge, “Is that Route 10 over there?”  Paul “It’s about75 degrees” Don “Ok, that’s what road I thought it was.”

On his first trip to Lake Shelbyville with his boat he hit something. That was covered under the “Whoa is Woe” story.

On a return trip from Clinton Lake, he stopped to fill his fuel tank. The fuel tank is internal and very large. The fuel tank filler is also quite wide, and Paul wasn’t paying much attention. He filled the tank with diesel fuel.  When he took the boat out later, he had difficulty keeping it running. He took the boat in for repair and discovered his fuel mistake. When he asked the mechanic if he ruined the engine, the mechanic said “No, but you lubricated the hell out of it”.

When I was exploring a boat purchase, I asked Paul where he purchased his Lowe.  He said he bought it in Canton, IL from a dealer on the edge of town on Route 24. Since I traveled that way several times a year, I decided to see if I could find it.

 I always entered Canton on Rt. 9 and there was only a small lot with a few used boats outside of town. In days before GPS, one had to rely on directions and maps. I didn’t look at the map and relied on Paul’s statement about location. I thought perhaps Rt.24 might cross Canton on the north side as it headed west. I drove around looking for a boat dealer on the north side and did not find it. I exited south of town and there was no boat dealer there.

On my return trip, I discovered why I couldn’t find a dealer on Rt. 24, because Rt. 24 doesn’t go to Canton. When heading along the river you drive on Rt. 24 and turn off to follow Rt. 9 west. Paul is famous for his lack of direction. I am not much better.

After many enjoyable years in his Lowe, Paul decided he needed to downsize. His sons were working and not as available as before. He wasn’t fishing Clinton much and wanted to buy a new boat that would be a tiller steer and smaller motor. At this point Paul had fished several times with me in my Lund, and knew that was what he wanted.

Paul’s new Lund was the same size as mine and equipped with a 4 stroke 25 HP motor. He also purchased a 6 HP kicker motor for Lake Evergreen. Since he purchased it new, Lund gave him a huge tackle bag filled with fishing lures. A short time later, he had moved into town into a new house that had storage for his boat.

Paul was quite proud of his new boat and took very good care of it. Unfortunately he took Don with him on a summer trip to Lake Evergreen. As they were pulling the boat from the garage, Paul pushed the opener and started to close the garage door opener. Unfortunately, the boat was not all the way out of the door. The motor was up, so the electric eye didn’t see it. Garage doors don’t survive landing on boats. The trip was cancelled as they had to wait for emergency replacement of the garage door.

Paul and I decided to return to Boulder Junction, WI in the summer. I volunteered to bring my boat. My brother, Steve, had asked me the past year about fishing up there. I had declined, as I felt I didn’t know the area well.

I told Paul I was going to ask Steve, and Paul decided we should take two boats. This would let us add his friend, Jerry, who had a cabin in the area.

We fished with both boats the first day and it was slow fishing. Towards evening we decided to move closer to the dock. There is a rock bar that has less than a foot of water on the top of it, but it cannot be seen from above.  Smallmouth bass move onto the bar in low light. Paul decided to drive over to it.

Traveling at moderate speed, Paul’s motor hit the bar with a lot of force. As Steve and I approached he started frantically waving to get me to slow down. Fortunately I had the bar marked on my fish finder, and was able to ease up to it with my trolling motor.

We caught many fish that evening. The smallmouth bass were huge. Unfortunately darkness came quickly and we had to go. Paul’s motor was not running correctly.

When we returned home he took it into the shop. The lower unit was bent, so Paul did the only logical thing. He bought a new, bigger motor.

Fishing trip, trout, tornado

Early days on the farm faded into college days in Macomb. My roommate, Bob, was an avid outdoors person. Duck hunting was his favorite, but he also loved to fish. You may recall I knew nothing worthwhile about fishing.

My freshman year, Bob invited several of us to travel to his home for the opening of trout season. The Coleta trout ponds were described by him as the best fishing circus one could experience. The ponds were stocked by the state of Illinois for opening day in April. He said the trout were hatchery raised, dumb, and easy to catch. He said one only needed a small gold number 18 hook and a ball of Velveeta cheese and they would bite. The cheese balls imitated the salmon eggs that trout love.

Since I didn’t own a fishing rod, and had no idea how to cast with one, he advised me on a purchase. My first rod and reel was a combination Shakespeare closed face reel (spin cast) and fiberglass rod. This was the push button reel little kids used. While on the trip, we purchased some flies so we could strip the wrapping off the hooks, and bought some salmon eggs.

Four of us drove to Sterling on Friday afternoon. We spent the night at Bob’s parents’ home. We made cheese balls and rigged our equipment for an early start. The small hook could not be cast with my push button reel, so Bob added a small bobber so I could throw it.

We arrived at the ponds before 5:30 am. No one was allowed to fish until the appointed hour. By the time we arrived, the banks were already beginning to fill with fishermen.

The trout stocking program is primarily aimed at kids. This first day had many kids along the banks. Unfortunately kids and fishing in a crowded area can be a bit of challenge.

There are three rectangular ponds at Coleta. They provide plenty of area for bank fishing, and that was the intent. The rectangular shape also worked well as long as everyone respected the fishing area of others.

We were aligned with others along the banks. Some of us were along the end of a pond, others along the sides. This left some open bank in the corner between us.

At 6:00 am a police siren was sounded , and all of the lines were cast. As soon as our hooks hit the water, we had rainbow trout. Every one of our group caught fish. People fishing with night crawlers were not so lucky.

In less than ten minutes we were approaching our limits of seven each. Others immediately noticed our success. Fishermen tend to move where others are catching fish. Some asked about borrowing some cheese baits, but the kids took a different approach. Thus was revealed the difficulty with rectangular ponds.

A kid seeing the open bank space near us, stepped into the corner of the bank. He cast his heavy line and night crawler out from the corner, as he reeled in he snagged every line in the water from both banks.

Our fishing ended, as it took quite a while to untangle all those lines. When we finally untangled, all the dumbest trout had been caught. Those remaining had grabbed bait and escaped. By late morning, the fishing died down.

After untangling our lines, we cast more cheese balls into the pond, but the trout were not so eager. As everyone in our group was near our limit for the day, we left the ponds. We cleaned our fish, but left on the scales and heads. Bob said the scales were tiny and could be eaten. Leaving the heads on was a tradition for trout fishing.

We returned the next day, but the circus was over. Cheese balls were no longer effective. We threw some of the salmon eggs, and caught a few more. We wrapped up early and headed back to college. On the way we stopped by my parent’s farm.

I presented my Mom with the trout. She couldn’t believe they still had their heads, but put them in the freezer anyway. Later that spring when she cooked them, she had my Dad take off the heads. The trout tasted terrible. They had a mossy taste, probably from being pond fed at the hatchery. They ended up as food for the pigs.

Coleta Trout Ponds trip 2

Having experienced a good time, we planned another trout pond trip in April 1967. This year was unusually warm. We had been playing intramural softball during the first three weeks of April. We had done well in softball, and when we announced four of us we were going to miss a week-end for fishing, my RA and buddy, Gordy, was not pleased. We went anyway.

That Friday, a cold front moved through Illinois. We could see the dark sky as we headed north. That Saturday it dumped several inches of snow on Macomb, thus cancelling any softball games. What happened near our fishing trip was more dramatic.

Belvidere is a town outside of Rockford, about 70 miles north and east of where we were to fish. At school dismissal, all of the buses picked up the elementary and junior high kids from their respective schools. The 16 buses then all arrived fully loaded at the high school, where the kids were to change buses for the ride home. This was the same practice I experienced every school day in my home town.

The sky was black as the buses left from the elementary schools. The high school dismissed as the buses arrived. In 1967 there were weather watches, but no weather sirens. With every bus student and all of the high school students at the site, an F4 tornado ripped into the school with 240 mph winds, flipping over the buses and killing or injuring most of the students. We heard of the story that evening. It was the worst school disaster up to that time, and still remains in the top ten of dead and injured from weather.

Years later, while an elementary school principal, I faced threatening skies and a tornado warning at dismissal time. Rather than load the buses, I brought in the drivers and held the kids in shelter. As parents called we said were not dismissing until the system passed. We waited almost an hour.  I took a lot of grief as other schools dismissed. We were spared a tornado that day, but I have no regrets.

We had another successful fishing trip that Saturday, but it was cold and snowing so we didn’t stay. We returned to school sobered by what had happened in Belvidere. We never returned.

The state no longer stocks the ponds at Coleta.

The Whole Shebang

We made Shelbyville an annual trip on the last week-end in April. We told many tales of the trips, although the truth may have been stretched. One year many of the administrative team from our school district decided to join us for one day of fishing (drinking).

Several of the administrators had never fished.  One of the principals, Jeff, took this to heart and brought a children’s Snoopy fishing pole for our AD John. We brought along multiple coolers full of beer.

To accommodate such a large group, we decided to rent a pontoon (as in party barge) boat. Paul, the planner, rented the boat is his name so he became the captain. We all joked that he was now Captain O.B. The pontoon boat steered from the rear, so Captain O.B. was under a canopy. Off we went with several fishing poles rigged for crappies, and everyone with beer in hand.

As beer drinking was the major activity, no one much paid attention to where we going or where they were standing, except whether there was a cooler nearby. We were moving fairly quickly along the lake and most of us were standing near the bow. Don had all of his fishing tackle along and his tackle box was open, when water started coming over the bow of the boat.

With all of us in front of him, Captain O.B could not see the front of the boat. Water came onto the deck before he saw it. The first reaction from everyone was to grab a cooler and move back. Unfortunately many of Don’s lures floated away before anyone thought to help him. We managed to rescue a few of the lures, but many went overboard. Captain O.B. decided to slow our rate of travel and decided to keep everyone back from the bow. We kept drinking beer.

After an enjoyable, but few fish day, we returned the party barge and headed to Jibby’s for food and drink. Paul ordered his traditional Mai Tai.

The Final years

One year I had a Friday night interview for a job. I was not able to change the interview so I missed the annual trip down and stop for pizza. After the late night interview, I decided to return home and join the guys in the morning.

I left home around 5:00 am to try and reach the guys before they left for fishing. I was supposed to bring beer, but had failed to purchase any in advance. As I reached Decatur, I decided to stop and buy beer at a gas station convenience store.

I was informed they couldn’t sell me any beer until 6:00 a.m. I had never heard of this before. Faced with a choice of waiting for beer or leaving for fishing, I elected to wait for beer.

Paul and Don were up when I arrived, but no nearer to fishing. I had plenty of time. By the way, I didn’t get the job.

Robert re-joined us for a couple of trips. One significant trip we decided to try night fishing.   Robert’s version of that night is “I caught that two foot gar in the dark.  We couldn't tell what it was.  Don thought it was a snake when it first came up.”   Don recalls “After looking at its mouth we quit and headed for liquid refreshments “

2000 was to be our last spring trip to Shelbyville. Don was retiring the following year. The need to get away in the spring was not so strong. The fishing experience had never been better than the first trip. It was time to end the tradition.

Three years later all four of us were retired.

The Great Smokies part 2

Our campsite was near a stream so we hoped to fish there. Paul and Robert proceeded to set up the tent, while Don and I set up the camper. Paul had moved the rear van seat forward to remove the equipment. When they tried to move the seat so someone could sit in it, they couldn’t figure it out. Eventually a young kid walked by, and showed them how to move it. We laughed about all the bachelor’s degrees, master’s degrees, and post master’s degrees we had, but couldn’t figure out how to operate a seat.

Pat sent along steaks, potatoes, and salad so we started a campfire for the evening and cooked over the fire. She also sent along my favorite brownies, turtle brownies. She sometimes threatens to not send any with us for some smart ass remark so I am often threatened to be brownieless.

By sundown, it was starting to get quite cold as night fell. Paul had a heater in the tent, but we had nothing but a blanket for the camper.

We watched as some boy scouts attempted to set up a tent below us. They had no idea how to set it up and struggled until dark. By the time we turned in for the night they had nothing more than a sack laying on the ground. They cooked something on a burner on the end of a propane torch.

That night set a record for cold. Camping when temperatures are near zero takes special equipment. We didn’t have any. I put on every piece of clothing I had, buried myself under my coat, and shivered all night. As cold as I was, at least I was off the ground. Paul and Robert had a heater, but it ran out after a few hours. The scouts had nothing but the tent.

We got up as the sun rose. We started a fire and Don made coffee and skillet breakfast. It was damn cold. Eventually two scouts crawled out from under their flattened tent.  I hope they got a merit badge for their efforts.

After breakfast, we tried fishing the stream near the campsite. The fly fishermen went to work, catching trees and other objects, while Robert and I cast spinners.

Needing more blankets, and some fishing guidance, we headed into town. First we headed to Walmart and bought blankets.

We stopped at the tackle shop and hired the owner’s son for half a day. He asked if we wanted to catch lots of fish. We said we did so we followed him to the edge of town.  

Right outside of town we stopped.  You could see the population sign for Gatlinburg where we stopped. Not exactly the commune with nature we were expecting. This wasn’t in the national park, but he said this is where we catch fish. He took a photo of the four us standing by Paul’s van. That’s the photo you see on the blog.

He said to get rid of our lures and put on a single hook with a split shot. He then attached a single piece of soft plastic and told us to throw it upstream and let it float down. He spoke fly fishing to Don and Paul, in some language only they understood. They began whipping some type of buggy thing. We caught fish immediately.

The logic of fishing right out of town was revealed later. The creek we fished flows through Gatlinburg. Many hotels are located along the creek. In order to keep their clients happy, the hotels have the creek stocked with trout. The trout didn’t know the city limits, but the guide did.

We waded around in the rapidly moving stream, while our guide dozed off on the bank. After the requisite amount of time, we paid the guide and headed back to our campsite.

Fortified with more blankets we went back to our campsite. After fishing with a guide, we were confident we could catch trout the next day.

That night we drove into Pigeon Forge for dinner. The traffic was as bad as before. We sought a restaurant known as the Applewood Farmhouse , famous for southern cooking. We couldn’t find a place in the parking lot, so we parked along a road and walked back. We had a great meal, ordering the apple smoked meat, and plenty of mashed potatoes, biscuits and gravy.

The next morning we were back fishing the stream near camp. One thing that struck me was the color of the boulders. The fishing shirts we had purchased from Cabela’s were an exact match for the colors along the stream.

Unfortunately fishing was not as productive. I recall casting the end of my two piece fishing rod into the stream and watching it float away. Fortunately I held on to the reel and was able to reel the top back to me. Robert moved downstream and caught fish under a bridge. We all moved down too, but he was the successful one. He has a special ability to catch fish.

Robert’s explanation follows:

As to catching fish, from what I have seen, it is all in the fingertips.  Of course that assumes the bait has been put in front of the fish.  My brother and I conducted some experiments when we lived on Dunlap Lake in the Edwardsville area when I started my initial fishing adventures.  One part of the lake had a rocky cove  We were fishing the cove  along a hill where  rocks were located.  We could see hundreds of Crappie in very clear water.  This was later in the season and the spawn was almost over.  We were casting and reeling in through a regular convention of fish and not catching them.  So, I climbed up the hill and had my brother cast along the edge.  He would lay down a fifty foot cast and reel it in.  He was using a white jig that was clearly visible in the water.  Time and time again a fish would come up to it and take it completely in.  But the bite was so soft he could not feel it.  So I started signaling for him to set the hook and he began to catch fish.  Then I came down and kept a finger on the line, reeling in fast enough to keep up some tension.  If I felt the tiniest little peck, I would set the hook.  We both caught a lot of fish.

The next day we went out again. The picture below was taken by Paul on that day. I am in front, Don in the green, and Robert way back by the bridge. As you can see by our clothes, it started to rain and got worse. Mountain streams fill rapidly in a rainstorm and wading became hazardous. We decided to quit.

After removing and stowing our gear, we became tourists. We hiked up the mountains along a stream. There were brook trout in the streams, but they were protected from fishing. We returned to drive through the National Park looking at mountains and wildlife. Eventually we reached Elkmont, a restored settler’s village. There were historic Appalachian equipment, farms, and a water mill.

We drove through some meadows and later a wooded area. Along the road were a few dark birds.  Paul stopped the van. First one crossed the road, followed by another. Paul said they were wild turkeys. I had never seen one before. Now they are a common site almost everywhere. We even had one in my neighborhood last summer.  We stopped at a tourist gift shop and bought hats and other stuff.

The trip home did not include fog so we returned to our brake lights plan. We were safe at last. A few years later, Don and Pat sold their camper. I never found out if they demonstrated the brake lights-tail lights maneuver to the new owner.